Days of the Advent
by Nos4a2no9
Summary: Sequel to Children of the Night. Bruce and a pregnant Selina clash over crimefighting and their relationship, all the while contending with a new threat to the city of Gotham.
1. Chapter 1: Concerns Foreign and Domestic

Title: Days of the Advent

Author: Nos4a2no9

Characters/Pairings: Batman/Catwoman, Nightwing/Oracle, others

Rating: MA for explicit language and adult themes.

Disclaimer: No profit for the lowly fanficcer – it is a poor life, but a rich one.

Notes: This story is **incomplete**. It's been sitting on my hard drive for almost two years, but I'm hoping to get back to it as soon as school is over with. Please r/r and let me know if you're interested in seeing the saga conclude sometime this century. "Advent" is a sequel to "Children of the Night," a huge multi-part story which you can find archived at my website, located at If this address doesn't work, try the link in my author profile.

Summary: Bruce and a now-pregnant Selina clash over crimefighting and their relationship, all the while contending with a new threat to the city of Gotham.

DAYS OF THE ADVENT  
Part I

_Prologue_

"A father's love can be a terrible thing."

Selina's voice, soft and sad, from somewhere behind him. The smell of kerosene. And the feel of a noose slipping around his neck.

He grabbed the rope, trying to force it away from his windpipe. His fingers couldn't seem to grasp the thin jump line. His own rope.

The city was far below, and he was suspended from one of the gargoyles encircling the top of Wayne Towers. The wind bit through him, stinging his cheeks. He wasn't wearing the costume, or the mask.

The rope tightened around his neck and he kicked violently in the air, his feet straining for purchase on something solid. There wasn't anything there.

He was alone.

"A terrible thing," her voice repeated, and over the wind and the noise of traffic far below, he heard another sound, dim and faint.

A baby crying.

_

* * *

Chapter One - Concerns Foreign and Domestic_

Bruce jerked up with a gasp, his heart pounding.

It wasn't pearls. If it had been, he knew that within 2 minutes and 29 seconds he would be strong enough to make it to the bathroom and splash cold water on his face. Pearls meant he could regularize his breathing and heart rate on his own. Pearls, though terrifying, were at least familiar. This had been something else.

He felt Selina come awake beside him, disturbed from her dreams by the violence of his own. Other elements of his surroundings began to filter in, and he was momentarily surprised by his own sense of disorientation. He'd thought he was in the Manor; noise from the street outside began to register, as well as the oppressive heat of their small bedroom. He knew then that he was in the East End, and the realization felt like a small victory against whatever the dream had meant.

Selina slipped from the bed, turning on the light in the bathroom. He knew how he must look: wild eyes, disheveled hair, chest heaving in and out as adrenaline coursed through his system. She returned in a moment, not letting on that she'd noticed how frightened he was. Selina placed a cool washcloth on the back of his neck, pressing her forehead to his, murmuring quietly. Helping him back to himself.

"Want to talk about it?" she whispered, and he shook his head, gulping in air. She handed him a glass of water and he drained the cup, setting it on the bedside table with shaking fingers. Bruce swung his feet over the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair. She touched his back, her fingers cool against his skin. "First one in three weeks," she pointed out. "That's some kind of record, isn't it?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice. He waited for her to say what they were both thinking: it was their first night back in Gotham, and the nightmares had returned as if on cue. But she didn't say it, didn't say anything at all. Selina simply settled back into bed, folding the thin sheet demurely over her chest, covering her nudity. She was shy about her body, now.

He felt nervous, wound-up, and considered going for a jog. The costume was back at the cave, but he could patrol on foot. The sun wouldn't rise for hours.

Instead, Bruce lay back down, slipping an arm around Selina, his other hand on her belly. The position felt natural, after the long weeks in Hawaii. Still no movement from the child inside, but he knew that the baby was there, growing, developing limbs and fingers and toes. Becoming a reality.

He felt her body slowly relax and go limp, her breathing growing deep and regular. As Selina slept, he lay awake and waited for dawn.

No more nightmares, he prayed to the dark.

* * *

Something was tickling his ear. 

Without opening his eyes, Dick pawed at the spot, his limbs heavy with sleep. The tickling continued. He frowned, and brushed his ear once more. Still the irritation continued.

"Ugh," he groaned, cracking one eye open.

Barbara was eye-level with him, leaning on her elbows over his side of the bed.

"Babs?" he asked sleepily. "What's going on?"

"Sorry, hon," she told him, brushing his hair. "You're on deck."

"What time is it?"

"Just past two a.m."

He yawned and sat up. Barbara leaned back, guiding her chair away from the bed so Dick could rise. "Bruce need help?"

She shook her head. "He's not patrolling tonight."

"I thought they got back this afternoon?"

Barbara shrugged, wheeling around the room to pick up the discarded pieces of his uniform. "Maybe he's catching up on the reports we filed while he was away. Or maybe they just wanted to prolong the vacation. Want me to call and ask?"

"No, it's okay," Dick told her, shaking his head to help clear the cobwebs from his mind. "Just give me a sec to get myself together."

Barbara allowed herself to admire the view of Dick's naked backside for a few more seconds before retreating from the bedroom and into her Oracle control room. Dick had slept less than three hours, and that was the most he'd gotten all week. Operating during the day on the Bludhaven force and then covering Gotham and the 'Haven on alternating nights was starting to take its toll. Barbara had hoped now that Bruce was back, Dick's workload might lighten a little.

Nightwing appeared at the doorway to her control center. The mask couldn't quite hide how pale and tired he looked. "What's up?"

"You've got a meet," she informed him, trying to sound like a professional instead of a worried girlfriend. "A call came in from a payphone near the yacht basin. Seems that a certain Baghead has finally resurfaced."

Dick wrinkled his brow, nodding. "What time?"

"Half an hour. Cape Carmine."

Dick held back a groan. He nodded silently, heading for the window.

"I really am sorry, Dick," Barbara told him, but he was already gone.

Dick had hoped the night wind would help him wake up, at least a little, but the city was in the midst of a late-summer heat wave; what little breeze there was only stirred the hot, muggy air. His mind still felt foggy. What the hell had ever made him think he had time for a day job? Bruce might have been able to oversee a corporate empire and operate as the world's greatest detective, but then Bruce didn't have a life, at least not until recently. Dick was exhausted, and the night had just started. To make matters worse, he was pulling a double shift tomorrow.

He headed for the Cape, weary to the bone.

Dick arrived a little past 2:30am, and his date was already waiting. Vic, a tall, athletic-looking man clad in a long trench coat and old-fashioned fedora, stood with his back turned towards the dark sea. What looked like a tight brown sack covered his face, obscuring his features. Oracle's file on him had it that Vic was some kind of burn victim or disfigured Meta. It didn't matter much to Dick: his interactions with Vic had always been conducted on the part of Helena Bertinelli, the Huntress, who had disappeared several months ago.

Something, perhaps, had changed.

"Hey, long time no see!" Vic greeted, cheerful. Dick dropped down next to him on the rotting dock near the Cape's long-abandoned lighthouse.

"Where have you been?" Dick asked, exhaustion making him irritable, even hostile. He sounded a little like Bruce: maybe all those late nights had been harder on his father than he'd thought.

"Sorry about that," Vic apologized. "I was up North for a while. Missed all the excitement. I just heard about what happened."

"So you heard that Helena put two bolts tipped with anti-coagulant into an unarmed woman?"

Dick wished he could see the other man's eyes. Vic's head dropped, the pretence at friendliness falling away.

"I don't advocate violence. I tried to teach Helena that there are better ways."

Dick turned, ready to fire a jump line and sail away. "Yeah, bang-up job."

"Wait!" Vic said, putting a restraining hand on Dick's shoulder. Dick shrugged him off. "You have to believe me! If I'd known Helena was using lethal methods-"

"Tell me she hasn't taken a life before," Dick replied. "Tell me her hands are clean."

Vic shook his head. "That was a long time ago, Nightwing. When it comes to the mafia, it's like a switch turns on inside her."

"I hope you're not saying that excuses her actions," Dick warned. Vic didn't respond and the younger man sighed, looking out at the dark waves of the Cape. "Do you know why she went after that woman?"

Vic shrugged. "I heard she was connected to the Falcones. Are you absolutely sure that Helena-"

"We had a witness," Dick replied irritably. "Robin walked in on them. The woman nearly died. She would have, if one of our people hadn't been there. This finishes it for Helena, Vic. If she ever shows her face in Gotham again, the Batman will put her away."

"Was the woman innocent?" Vic asked softly. Nightwing whirled to face him, his muscles tensed in anger.

"What kind of question is that?" he snarled. "Whether she was connected to the Falcones or not, she didn't deserve to be executed for it."

"I agree with you," Vic said quickly, not backing down. "But it's different for Helena. The Falcones killed her family. She doesn't see it as execution, she sees it as justice."

"Some justice," Dick muttered. "I just need to know if it's finished. Will she go after the woman again?"

"Was she responsible for what happened to Helena's family?"

Dick narrowed his eyes. "No. She was just a kid when Helena's family was murdered."

Vic nodded, satisfied. He turned to go, then reconsidered. "I don't know where Huntress is," Vic told him. "But if I did, I don't think I'd tell you. I still think she can be saved. And I don't think your father is interested in helping her."

Nightwing watched Vic walk away, disappearing in the darkness of the Cape. Bruce wasn't going to be happy about this.

* * *

Bruce woke slowly, squinting his eyes against the sunlight flooding the room. He checked the bedside clock - still an hour before he had to worry about being late. When had he drifted off? The night had seemed endless and he didn't remember falling asleep. Selina was gone, although the bed was hardly empty. Two of her cats slumbered at his feet, and another one had somehow wedged itself in between his legs. When he shifted slightly, the cat mewled in displeasure and jumped out of its chosen spot. Bruce discovered his legs had stiffened from the awkward position. 

It occurred to him that he wasn't alone in the small bedroom, cats aside, and lifted his head to check the other end of the room. Lucy was sitting on the stool by Selina's vanity, humming quietly, still dressed in her nightgown. She swung her legs, keeping rhythm as she hummed, and he couldn't help but notice the shortened, twisted appearance of her left leg.

"Hello," Bruce said, gruffly. Lucy glanced up. He saw that she was flipping through a thick stack of glossy photographs. He and Selina had bought a disposable camera for the little girl in Hawaii.

"Want to see?" Lucy asked eagerly, crossing the room and climbing up into bed beside Bruce without waiting for an answer. He sat up, a little self-conscious without a shirt. The child had never asked about the scars and she'd certainly seen enough of them on the beach in Hana, but Bruce still felt reluctant to expose Lucy to the burns, bullet wounds and deep gashes on his arms and torso. She settled into place beside him without a second glance.

He accepted the stack of photographs, surprised when Lucy cuddled next to him, peering over the tops of his large hands at the pictures. The snapshots were a succession of underwater photos: Lucy had spent hours in the water with Selina, floating with the camera held just below the surface, her tiny face lost behind a thick pair of goggles and a snorkeling tube.

She had managed to capture a bright school of angelfish and a lone blue Frontosa. The pictures were blurry and out-of-focus, but as he listened to Lucy explain how and when each shot was taken, Bruce began to see things from her child's perspective. The excitement of it, the joy in the creation of something that was solely her own, was evident in Lucy's voice. He listened as she explained in a shy, halting way about the strangeness of the warm waters and the exotic tropical fish. He'd forgotten how magical the world of a child could be, how simple and pure things were when you were five years old and had someone to love and protect you.

"The camera worked great underwater," Lucy pointed out, waiting for Bruce to deliver his verdict on her photographic ability. He extracted a few of the best shots from the stack and examined each one carefully.

"They're very good," he told her. "You…you worked hard on them."

The child positively beamed. He marveled that such a little thing could make her so happy, wanting to add more to his compliment. Instead he asked, "Do you know what kind of fish these are?" pointing at a school of _Pterophyllum scalare_. Lucy scrunched up her brow, a tiny frown of concentration pressed on her features. She stared intently at the picture, then sighed in defeat.

"It's a little early for ichthyology, isn't it?" Selina asked from the bedroom door. She was already dressed in a white blouse and black pencil skirt that ended just above her knees, but she hadn't yet put on shoes. Bruce admired the absence of the missing element, liking the comfort of Selina in her stocking feet, the way her skin glowed in the first blush of pregnancy. She noticed his frankly appraising look and raised a sardonic eyebrow. Selina crossed the room, settling into bed beside Lucy.

"Lucy wanted you to see these first," Selina explained, wrapping an arm around the little girl. "She wouldn't let me look."

"I needed to make sure they were good," the child explained patiently, looking at Bruce as she rested her head on Selina's shoulder. "They're good, aren't they?"

"They're very good," he assured her again, handing the stack of photos to Selina. Considering that Lucy had never handled a camera before, the pictures were…well, the pictures still looked as though a five-year old child with limited motor skills had been handed a cheap camera and let loose, but they were good, he supposed, for a child her age. Bruce had nothing to compare them to.

Selina made her own close inspection of the pictures. "They're great!" she exclaimed warmly, hugging the little girl. "I'm still surprised that the fish let you get so close!"

Lucy beamed, pleased. An almost comical expression of alarm flooded across her face. "I forgot!" the little girl said, slipping out from between them. "There were more in the envelope," she told them, heading for the hallway. "Wait, okay?"

They watched the little girl's retreat from the room. Bruce noted that her limp remained much the same as it was four months ago. Paradise hadn't changed everything.

"She really likes you," Selina told him, rising to make her side of the bed. "I was worried that she'd be a little afraid, after-"

Bruce grunted and rose, trying to locate his shaving kit in the disarray of his half-unpacked suitcase. Selina watched him hunt through the bag methodically. "And I think the camera was a good idea," she continued slowly. "Lucy doesn't really have many interests, outside of mind-reading and telepathy, of course."

"Did she do much of that in Kansas?" Bruce asked, heading for the bathroom.

Selina plumped up the pillows and folded the coverlet neatly across the bed. "Yes, although I'm not sure she was aware of it at the time. I'd find her sometimes, in the barn or out in a field, balancing things: beams of wood, parts of machinery. The Kents were great about it. I guess it took them back to when Clark was young."

"Except Clark used his hands," Bruce pointed out, running hot water in the sink. He met his own eyes in the mirror and watched as his face was slowly obscured by steam. Selina sat down on the edge of the tub, watching him begin to shave.

"Did you expect that her abilities would fade? Or that she'd lose interest in using them?"

Bruce paused in his precise application of the shaving cream. "Leslie told us that her powers would grow stronger with time."

"And how do you feel about that?"

He met her eyes, unable to decide what it was she wanted from him. She hadn't given voice to the question in Hawaii, but then in Hawaii he wasn't in a position to make use of Lucy's abilities.

"Feel?" he repeated, returning his attention to the mirror. The glass had misted over again; he swiped at it with his hand. Beads of moisture ran down through the steam to drip off the edge of the mirror.

Selina rose, wrapping her arms around his chest, pressing her cheek against his back. Bruce lowered the razor. "I need you to promise me something," she said slowly, clearly, her voice reverberating through his chest. "Whatever happens between us, I need you to promise me that you will love that little girl."

He shifted his weight, the aloe scent of the shaving cream invading his nostrils, making him want to sneeze. He controlled the urge, covering her hands with his own. "I-"

"You're not getting off that easy," Selina warned, and he felt her smile against his skin. "You have to make sure she knows you love her. And that might, y'know, actually involve spending time with her."

"I spent time with her in Hawaii," Bruce replied softly, turning. "You make it sound as if it were some sort of chore."

"Well, talking isn't exactly your strong suit," Selina replied. "Not that I'm complaining - I'm obviously a sucker for you strong silent types, but it's different for a kid."

He met her eyes for a moment. "I'll try," Bruce promised. His hands drifted to her waist and Selina tipped her head back, her full, rose-colored lips parted in invitation. He kissed her, but pulled back at her soft laugh.

"What is it?"

"Shaving cream," she muttered, smiling as she swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. "Not the greatest breakfast, but…" Still grinning, she reached up to wipe his earlobe. He turned back to the mirror and she returned to her perch on the edge of the tub, watching him scrape the stubble from his face. The steel razor cut a stripe through the shaving cream, the line of tanned and healthy-looking skin contrasting sharply against the white foam. Surprising, in its own way, revealing something unexpected.

She thought suddenly of her father, watching him shave Sunday mornings before the 10 o'clock mass, back in that brief, happy time in her childhood before her mother died. How old had she been then? Five? Six? Older than Lucy? Selina was twenty-nine now, older than her mother had ever been. And her father…how old had he been when he'd died? Thirty-five? Forty? She hadn't been there when it had happened; Maggie had told her about how Stephen Kyle had died of exposure beneath one of the El tracks in Robbinsville. Selina was glad she didn't remember him that way, a homeless alcoholic who had frozen to death in his own wastes. Instead, she had this memory of him.

Pink skin against white.

"Mr. Bruce? Selina?" Lucy called tentatively from the bedroom, "I found the rest of the pictures."

Bruce ran cold water in the sink. Selina stood, her reverie broken. She doubted she would be able to recall that memory later. She grinned up at Bruce, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Finish up, Gillette Boy," she advised, exiting the bathroom. "You're going to be late."

She scooped up Lucy on her way back to the kitchen. The little girl put one arm around Selina's neck and balanced easily on her hip, waiting patiently to be deposited at the kitchen table.

"So, what do you feel like for breakfast?" Selina asked, opening the fridge and staring disheartedly at the scant offerings inside. Mustard and a glass jar of pickles were the only items on the menu at the Casa du Kyle that morning.

"Lucy, I think Mrs. Kent has spoiled us beyond all hope," Selina muttered, eying a plastic container of yogurt suspiciously. How long had _that_ been in there? Since before she left for Kansas? She poked it experimentally. "Um, how hungry are you?"

"Not much," Lucy replied instantly. Selina turned, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Lucy's face was perfectly innocent. "You're not going to try to cook something, are you?"

Selina grinned. "You're not trying to tell me something, are you?"

"Nope," Lucy said, stifling a giggle. "It's just that, the last time you tried to cook…I'm not sure a fire is a good idea."

"The kid's turning into a smart-ass," Selina muttered, turning to check the other cupboards. "And those muffins were perfectly edible, by the way. Just…they were done Cajun style." It suddenly occurred to her why this was so difficult: Slam hadn't been by. He was usually responsible for stocking up on the necessities. "I vote that we hit a diner before I drop you off at Holly's."

"Holly's your friend, right?" Lucy asked, uncertain. Selina glanced at the little girl, who had lowered her eyes to look through the stack of pictures again. Selina pulled out a chair and sat down, holding Lucy securely in her arms.

"Hey, it's okay. Holly's great. You'll love her, and Karon. They're just going to take care of you while I meet another friend of mine."

"The old guy?"

Selina smiled to herself, glad Slam hadn't been around to hear that. "He's not so old," Selina informed Lucy. "There are some things I have to take care of today, that's all. I'll pick you up later this afternoon."

"With Mr. Bruce?"

"He's…" Selina trailed off. She had no idea what Bruce's schedule would be today. They had an appointment with Dr. Thompkins at noon, but otherwise Selina hadn't asked him how he would spend his day. Was that something couples did?

"It's okay," Lucy said, touching Selina's face. "Doesn't matter. I'm sure I'll like Holly and Karon."

Selina looked at the little girl, trying to read her face. Lucy did this sometimes, a desperate shuffling of her own desires to fit everyone else's needs. Must be hard to avoid when you could pick up on the emotions and thoughts of others, but Selina didn't like the idea of Lucy sublimating herself to anyone. There were enough yes-kids in the Bat family already.

She stroked the little girl's fine, dark hair, turning her attention to the pictures. "Can I see those?"

Lucy nodded, handing over the stack solemnly. "I didn't take these ones," she warned, slipping off the chair. "Can I watch TV?"

"Sure," Selina said, her attention fixed on the pictures. There were about ten, all of her and all taken without her knowledge. Bruce, obviously, catching her asleep or on the beach with Lucy. She hadn't been aware of his presence, but then the guy could get the drop on Superman. She found one of herself alone, wading through ankle-deep water in a light summer dress, the sun fading into the sea behind her. The sky was a soft rose color, the waves amber and gold.

"You're a man of many talents," Selina said over her shoulder. Bruce had emerged from the bedroom and was shrugging into his suit jacket. He stopped, noting the pictures in her hand.

"You could have just asked, you know. I'm a bit of a prima-donna when it comes to photographs, but if you were afraid I'd monopolize the camera…"

"I didn't have any pictures of you," Bruce said softly. At his tone, she rose, leaving the stack of photos on the table.

"Next time, just ask," she told him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "And make sure these don't end up on the internet."

"I promise," he replied gravely, making her smile. Selina kissed him on the lips: he tasted like toothpaste.

"Nice to know you care." She stayed close, liking the feel of his hands at the small of her back. "I'm going to put in a little professional time this morning," she informed him.

"You'll be careful?"

"It'll be strictly research," she promised. "Slam left about six hundred messages on my machine while we were in Hawaii. Something's happening in the East End."

"If you need anything, check with Oracle," Bruce said, going to the door. "She'll cooperate."

"Guess this means we're back to normal, huh?" Selina asked. "Whatever that is."

He paused at the doorway to the apartment. "I love you," he told her, his hand on the doorknob.

"And I'll see you this afternoon. Don't be such a sap."

Bruce left with a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

* * *

Selina waited at the busy intersection of Brubaker Blvd. and 169th street, scanning a newspaper to catch up on local politics. The same stories had filled the _Gotham Post_ for the fifteen years she'd been reading the paper: crime, corruption, fraud…the only section with any originality at were the gossip columns. They were squeezed into the society pages, just before the obituaries. Selina never read the obits; all too often she recognized the names of people she had grown up with. Those people always either died from "a long illness" or a "sudden illness", Gotham shorthand for AIDS and overdoses. 

"I missed this place," she muttered, her eyes widening in surprise as she checked the society pages. "BRUCE WAYNE'S LOVE NEST", the headline screamed, a grainy file photo of a penthouse on the Upper East Side encircled in a heart-shaped boarder with two columns of text. Selina grinned to herself, resisting the urge to snap a picture of her nondescript tenement two blocks away and send _that_ in to the _Post_.

"Love nest!" she snorted. "And who's the lucky lady?" Selina scanned the story, grinning. "Hmm, 'secret paramour'. Classy."

A shadow fell across the paper and Selina looked up, squinting a little against the bright August sun. "It's not polite to keep a lady waiting, y'know."

Slam laughed, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug and lifting her up a little. "God, I missed you," he smiled, setting her down gently. He swept away the crumpled edition of the _Post_, taking a good look at her.

"You look fantastic!" Slam exclaimed, focusing for a moment on her belly before sweeping his eyes up and down her tall, slender frame. "Guess the Midwest agreed with you."

She shrugged, grinning. "It was Kansas, Slam. Now Hawaii…that was sublime," she added, touching his shoulder. "How were things here?"

He waved off the question, looping her arm through his and setting off down the sidewalk. "Same old, same old. I want to hear about you first."

"You mean, am I mad that you told him how to find me?"

Slam glanced at her, pushing his hat back off his forehead a little. "Yeah, about that. I thought-"

"I'm glad you did," she told him quickly. "I mean, I was surprised that you were the one who-"

"Hey," he held up his hands. "I'm capable of a truly unselfish deed. And it was worth it just to see how…how happy you are."

She smiled in the sunlight. They walked along in silence for a few moments, coming to a stop at a small coffee shop run by the local mafia. Slam bought an iced mocha for himself, a fruit juice for Selina.

"Taking the pledge, huh?" he asked her, handing her the bottle of bright red liquid.

She nodded. "No more vices for at least five months."

"You're due, what, late December?"

Selina touched her stomach. "Around then. I'm going to see Leslie this afternoon."

"He's going to be there, I assume?"

A car slid by, hugging the sidewalk, blaring an indistinguishable blend of rap and hip-hop. One of the passengers in the back leaned out the window and whistled loudly at Selina, who waved sweetly. Slam frowned. "Punks."

Selina grinned. "They're just kids, Slam. And yes, he'll be there. He's…happy, I think. About all of it. But he's being cautious around me, too. The whole time we were in Hana he was quiet, withdrawn. I thought it was because he wanted to be back here, but now-"

Slam sipped his mocha and made a face. "That damn syndicate! Would it kill them to learn how to make a decent shot of caffeine? I know it's just for laundering money, but-" He touched her elbow, bringing her to a stop on the sidewalk. "What?" Slam prompted.

"He's waiting for me to make a decision about something."

"You're not sure?"

She shrugged. "It's just a lot to digest. I have to think about some things."

"Don't take too long," Slam advised. "Not more than five months, anyway."

Selina rolled her eyes. They continued to walk, taking a left and heading west into the Bowery. "So," she asked after a while, "what did you want to show me?"

"This," Slam said, coming to a stop. She looked across the street at the burnt-out shell of a warehouse. It was a common sight in the East End, which was a hazardous part of Gotham to do business in. Selina didn't recognize the address.

"Drug lab?" she guessed. Slam shook his head.

"Nope. Import business. Legit, so it flew below our radar. Someone torched it last week."

"Why?"

Slam lit a cigarette. "Well, that's what I'm trying to figure out. The place was run by an Irish family named Sullivan, odd because the Bowery is mostly black."

"Sullivan?" Selina repeated, furrowing her brow. The name was slightly familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Yeah, an old mom and pop operation from way back. They used to be connected to the Italians, but the mob hasn't had any kind of presence in Gotham for at least a decade. I think this business was their retirement fund."

"The Sullivans died in the fire?"

Slam handed her a news clipping from those obituaries Selina tried so hard to avoid. "Mary and Michael Sullivan. They were pushing 80, didn't have any reason to stay in Crime Alley other than the usual reasons people stay here: poverty and lack of imagination."

"Was someone threatening them? An import business in Gotham is usually a good way to funnel drugs or weapons into the city. Maybe someone wanted their turf?"

Slam removed his hat, running a hand through his graying hair. "That's what I've been trying to figure out, but so far, nothing. I can't make it fit. This wasn't a random crime - someone set charges and was careful to take out just the one building. They knew the Sullivans slept upstairs. I just don't know who would-"

The sound of wailing sirens cut off Slam's last words and they both turned, watching as four Gotham PD cruisers and a fire engine flew past, heading for Sheridan Park.

"Trouble," Slam muttered.

* * *

The television bolted to a corner wall in the Park Row Clinic was blaring as Bruce entered the hot, airless waiting room. On the TV an aging field reporter stood in front of the gates of Sheridan Park, tiredly explaining that yet another body had been found in the deep ravine running north along the river. It was the third corpse to be pulled out of the park this summer. Bruce frowned. He'd been hoping things would have quieted down after the last heat wave. 

He waved at the receptionist, who nodded in acknowledgement at him. He was late. The board meeting had run overtime as Bruce tried to reverse some of the decisions made by the executive committee in his absence without behaving as though Bruce Wayne had the slightest interest in the way his own company was run. The performance had been typically exhausting and Bruce felt a headache coming on in the hot little room. The clinic's air conditioning was broken again; he resolved to have a maintenance crew start work on the problem before dark. Leslie refused to close the clinic's doors for a complete renovation, and so Wayne Construction had been sponsoring the slow, meticulous overhaul of the old building piece by piece for the last several years. He wondered how Dr. Thompkins was able to tolerate the constant renovations.

The door to one of the examining rooms opened and Bruce stood, expecting to greet Leslie. Instead, Alfred emerged, carrying a thick pile of fresh sheets.

The two men stared at each other. Bruce hadn't spoken to his valet in four months, since Alfred had drugged him and delivered Lucy to Selina. Alfred had taken up residence at the Park Row Clinic; Bruce had closed Wayne Manor and lived in the cave below, operating for the majority of time as Batman.

"Master Bruce," Alfred muttered in surprise, clutching the sheets. "I was unaware you were-"

"I'm here with Selina," Bruce explained. "She and Leslie had an obstetrician appointment."

Alfred seemed to have recovered somewhat, smoothing out the folded sheets he had slightly rumpled. He closed his mouth tightly, avoiding Bruce's eyes. "I see. I trust Ms. Kyle is well?"

Bruce nodded. "I hope so. We were…we went to the house in Hana, with Lucy."

"I'm very glad to hear that, sir," Alfred told him stiffly.

Bruce realized he was scowling. Had Alfred always been this…formal? He was afraid, Bruce realized, and was using the old barriers of class and servitude to put distance between them. "Alfred, I-"

"Master Bruce, if you don't mind. These are needed in Exam Room Three," Alfred explained coldly, stepping past Bruce and heading off down the hallway. Bruce watched him go, frowning.

The picture on the monitor was gray, undefined, a triangle bordered in black. It shifted and throbbed, and Selina squinted, waiting for something to pull itself into focus. The K-Y jelly spread over her abdomen was cold and slimy; it had a faint medicinal smell that made her stomach turn queasily. Leslie guided the transducer probe over Selina's belly, her eyes focused on the monitor.

"Leslie?" Selina asked. Dr. Thompkins smiled in reassurance.

"I'm just trying to get a good look at things, dear," she explained, moving the scope around. Selina sighed and lay back on the table, biting her lip in uncertainty.

There was a soft knock at the door. Bruce, finally. He shut the door, his attention instantly fixed on Selina. She felt faintly embarrassed at the indignity of her current state: flat on her back on Leslie's exam table, clad in one of those hideous paper gowns, her wide white belly the focal point of everything. She hadn't let him see her like this yet, and she wondered what he thought of the heavy awkwardness of her body. They had made love in Hawaii, of course, but had always done so in darkness. She was not exactly at her sensual best at the moment.

Whatever his reaction, he covered it well. Bruce came to stand by the bed, his eyes on her face. She forced herself to relax, to smile at him. Selina wasn't eager to find out what he would be like if this pregnancy became a cause for concern. "Hi," she greeted, extending her hand. He took it, bending to kiss her.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Bruce told them. "The meeting ran long." He didn't let go of her hand.

Bruce turned, his attention now fixed on the ultrasound monitor. Leslie paused in her constant alignment of the probe and pointed at the screen. "There's your baby."

Selina squinted again, but still couldn't make out the shape of her unborn child. The undefined areas of the gray picture refused to make sense for her. Maybe the baby was still too small to see.

"Leslie, is that-"

Dr. Thompkins shook her head at Bruce. "Nope. Looks like a girl," she smiled, hitting a button. In her office down the hall, a printer began translating the ultrasound information into a viable image of their child. "Now," Leslie said to Bruce, "let's give Selina some privacy," she suggested, wiping the K-Y jelly off the other woman's belly.

Selina sat up, glaring. "Leslie, if there's something wrong, I think that I should-"

"There's nothing wrong," Leslie said quickly, unfazed. "Your weight is a little lower than I'd like - make sure she's eating properly," Leslie told Bruce, who nodded. "Other than that, you're perfect. So is the baby, who is exactly at the right stage of development. Just remember to eat and not physically strain yourself, and you'll be fine."

Mollified, Selina nodded. She rose and, without a second glance, entered the small washroom off the main exam room. Leslie continued to clean and reset her equipment, her back to Bruce.

"You're sure she's fine?" Bruce asked softly. Leslie turned, surprised. She knew that look.

"Bruce," she sighed, "please allow yourself to be happy about this. I don't foresee any trouble with the pregnancy. No metahuman mutations. No miscarriages. No health problems, for Selina or the baby. Think positive and work on building a life together."

"You're sure?"

Leslie's shoulders drooped and she turned, letting out a sharp sigh of exasperation. "I've only been practicing pre-natal care in this city for the last forty years, Bruce. I've delivered thousands of babies, one of them you. Believe me when I say that everything will be fine."

Bruce nodded, although she knew he wasn't convinced. He had the expression of a man unable to believe his own good fortune and determined to find the cloud among the silver lining. "So," she said to change the subject. "When are you going to marry our girl?"

His lips pursed and he withdrew even more. Leslie clapped the probe to the side of the ultrasound monitor. "I see," she said simply. "Selina's decision?"

Again, no answer from the tall, silent man in the doorway.

"I'm sorry," Leslie told him. "I'm from an older generation that believes people in love and expecting a child should make things official. I know it's a little old-fashioned."

Bruce grunted in response, clearly unwilling to discuss the subject any further. Leslie turned to face him.

"Did you see Alfred?"

Bruce nodded.

"He'll come home, if you ask him."

Bruce shook his head. "I don't think he will. He was right, Leslie. And he's not ready to forgive me for it."

"Give him some credit, Bruce. He loves you like a father. He'll come around."

Selina emerged from the washroom, herself again in sleek, stylish clothes that concealed the small mound of her abdomen. "Ready to go? I told Holly and Karon they'd have Lucy until three, but-"

"Fine," Bruce said, taking her hand and walking with her into the lobby, Leslie trailing behind.

"I want to see you again next month," Leslie told them, stopping at the receptionist's desk. "And remember what I said about diet and moderate exercise. It's very important that you take good care of yourself, Selina. And Bruce-"

Leslie halted in her lecture when she saw their expressions. Both Selina and Bruce were staring fixedly at the television screen. The report from Sheridan Park was still unfolding. On the screen, the city's coroners were removing a body from the ravine, and the news team had zoomed in on the body bag as officials zipped it over the deceased's head. The victim was black, his face rigid in death. In the instant the image flashed across the screen, Bruce knew that the body had been in the ravine for some time. He also recognized the dead man.

"Jefferson Skeevers," he said. Selina and Leslie glanced at each other.

"Wasn't he a dealer?" Selina asked. Bruce blinked, back in the present.

"A long time ago," he told them, visibly shaking himself. He turned back to Leslie. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"It's not important," Selina told him quickly. "If you need to-"

"No," he said firmly. "How did it go with Slam?"

Selina narrowed her eyes but decided to let it pass. "Fine," she said. "I need to access some files on a business in the Bowery that burned to the ground last week."

"We'll go to Oracle," he said, turning to Leslie. "I'll have a crew fix the air conditioning this afternoon," he promised. "Good to see you," he told the doctor, kissing her on the cheek. Leslie's eyes widened but she said nothing, watching them go.

"Margaret," Leslie said to her receptionist, "cancel my one o'clock. I'll be in my office."

* * *

"What's this one called?" 

"Max," Karon said, scratching the cat's ears. "She's going to have kittens soon."

Lucy frowned. "Then why is she called Max?"

"Because," Holly called from the kitchen, "Karon never pays attention to the details."

Karon stuck her tongue out at Holly, who set a tray loaded with sandwiches and orange juice down on the coffee table. One of the many cats wandering in and out of the East End apartment was purring contentedly in Lucy's arms, the others having scattered. The cats were survivalists, and they were able to recognize the dangers presented by an affectionate five-year-old.

"I miss anything?" Holly asked, checking the TV where one of the afternoon soap operas was unfolding.

Karon bit into a peanut butter and banana sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "Well, I think that puppet thing just killed that lady, but Lucy says the puppet only knocked her out and she'll be reunited with her boyfriend, but it turns out he was her ex-fiancé's twin and killed him to…why was it, again?"

"Because he wanted to know where the buried pirate gold was hidden," Lucy explained patiently, sipping at her orange juice. "He still doesn't know it's in their mother's grave."

"And people say _we_ have problems," Holly grinned. "So, Lucy, what did you think of Hana?"

"It's 'Haw-na', not 'Hannah'," Karon corrected. "Were you raised in a barn?" she wiped at Holly's chin, who was patient under her girlfriend's administrations. Lucy watched the two young women for a moment, then returned her attention to the soap.

"It was okay," the little girl said. "I liked Kansas better. But I'm glad to be back here."

"You've had to move around a lot," Karon said. "Does that bug you?"

Lucy shrugged. "I won't have to move around much more. We're staying in Gotham."

"Did Selina tell you that?" Holly asked, wishing her friend had explained her plans to her. She'd barely spoken to Selina when the woman had dropped Lucy off at Holly and Karon's apartment.

"Not really," Lucy admitted. "I just-"

"Hi!" Selina said from the living room doorway. Lucy looked up, smiled, and hugged Selina, who picked the child up. "Everything okay?"

Holly and Karon exchanged a look: when had Selina Kyle turned into such a _mom_?

"Fine," Holly replied, standing. "We were just watching _Guiding Passions_."

"Oh God," Selina groaned, looking at Lucy. "I'm so sorry."

Lucy giggled.

"How'd it go with Dr. Thompkins?" Holly asked.

"Everything checked out okay," Selina said, setting Lucy down. "It just…it seems so far away. December. Hard to picture."

"Especially in this heat wave," Karon put in. "But Lucy was perfect and we're willing to take her anytime, now that you're back."

Selina nodded slightly, taking the little girl's hand. "I really should go. Thanks for babysitting."

"Any time," Holly said softly, closing the door after her friend. She leaned up against the door and sighed. "I just hope she knows what she's doing," Holly muttered. "It's hard to picture Selina going all Stepford, especially with…"

Karon arched an eyebrow, wondering again who the father of the baby was. She wasn't "in" on things, strictly speaking. She knew Selina Kyle, Holly's best friend and former roommate, was Catwoman, but there was a lot Holly left out of the story. Karon had her suspicions but knew better than to voice any of them out loud. Holly had enough to worry about.

"Hey," Karon said, touching Holly's face. "It's going to be okay, y'know. Lots of people fall in love and have kids. It doesn't mean you're not going to be part of her life anymore…it just means your part will change."

"Change sucks."

Karon smiled. "So I hear."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2: The Last Arkham

_CHAPTER TWO - The Last Arkham_

They pass his cell on their way to the low-security cells on the sixth floor all the time, and he knows the young interns have been warned against eye contact. Stay on the yellow line, the Asylum administrators tell them. Don't get close to any of the cells. The instructions never really helped. They always looked: they couldn't help it. People have an urge to stare into hell.

He'd seen so many of those interns, even the professional psychiatrists, leave in body bags or be carried out in straight jackets only to take up a cell next to his own. Stay on the yellow line, they told them. What they didn't tell the kids was that the line didn't extend all the way inside, where it really mattered. Where the Asylum always takes hold.

Sometimes he's hurt by their avoidance and fear, wishing that those fresh young things would spare him a pitying glace, a kind word. Some indication that they understood he's no monster, just terrible at impulse control. That it's not his decision. That it never really was.

Other days, days when the medication doesn't kick in or when he's been dreaming of the past, he wants them to stray off that yellow line keeping them centered between the long rows of cells. Wants to pull them over to his side of things.

To make them bleed. To eat their hearts. To show them that all it takes…

Is one bad day.

And there are plenty of those in Gotham.

Today is a good day, however. He had the shower all to himself - they're twitchy, after he nearly eviscerated that simpering queen Doodle Bug who'd tried to get fresh with him last week. Since then, it's been all solitary all the time: solitary meals, showers, exercise…like heaven, only He's there too. And He never stays quiet for long.

Harvey Dent is never really alone.

They let him have a paper this afternoon, because he'd been a good boy all week. As usual, he only skimmed through the business section, with the Wayne Enterprises logo dominating all the headlines. He skipped Community Events too, because it featured a story on the funeral for a couple of policemen who'd been killed in a grocery-store shootout last week. Harvey tried not to scrutinize their pictures too closely. They were vets on the force, which meant that he'd probably known them in the time Before.

Gossip columns, what the _Gazette_ called Society Pages, because unlike the _Post_ it aspired to real journalism. Harvey flipped the page, a faint tremble running down his arm, making the red, mottled flesh of his left hand shake.

It was an article similar to the one that had run in the _Post_ that morning: Bruce Wayne's Love Nest, although far less sensationalized than in the former article. "Is She the One?" the headline queried, followed by the byline: Bruce Wayne Spoken For? There was a picture, taken at the Ritz Carleton last spring, Wayne locked in a kiss with some gorgeous blonde who looked slightly familiar, although Harvey couldn't even begin to place her. She was wearing an exquisite black dress that hugged every full, luscious curve, and they were locked together so tightly that Harvey wondered if Wayne was pursuing some kind of latent interest in tonsils. The succeeding photographs were typical Bruce, escorting a beautiful woman to some romantic dinner. Only this time, there were more pictures and always of the same woman. At a toy store in April, a little dark-haired girl in tow. And a day ago, exiting the airport, same woman, same little girl, Bruce trailing behind with a few small bags.

And the _Gazette_, just to show that it was really a class act, had circled the slight bulge riding the woman's abdomen. "The Wayne Heir?" the caption inquired.

Harvey stared at the photo, trying to figure out if the picture had been tampered with. His left eye had been badly damaged in the courtroom attack so many years ago, and lately he'd found it more and more difficult to get the eye to focus. Near as he could tell, the photo was real.

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered. "Bruce Wayne a father. Huh."

This was said in Harvey Dent's old voice, so different from the crushed glass of Two Face's low growl. Harvey gave the picture a slow, lingering look, and then he seemed to rouse himself. One more page, and this time it was the crime beat, buried on the back pages because the _Gazette_ couldn't bear to sully itself with the stories that really mattered in Gotham.

Quite a body count had been racked up over the weekend. Two dead in a fire in the East End and a corpse pulled out of the ravine in Sheridan park. This time, the tremble running through Harvey's arm wasn't faint at all. He shook, hard, and sank down on the bare mattress of his bunk, one brilliant, clear brown eye and another of milky white scanning the stories again and again.

"So it's happening again," he muttered, a sick, twisted grin pulling up the left side of his face. The smile was Two Face's.

* * *

After the meeting with Vic, Dick had headed into the Diamond District. The Moonstone, an Indian diamond of inestimable value, was being housed at the Carrington Jewelry Exchange on East 34th Street. And it was a seductive mark, one that proved irresistible to the world-class thieves whom Dick had left sweating on the rooftop of the Exchange. It was strange that none of the usual gang of idiots had tried for the prize - with Catwoman firmly retired, a few of the B-listers had risen to fill her place. But between the hot weather and the increased sense of Bat-induced paranoia in the city, most of the rouges seemed to have taken a vacation. It had been a quiet period for Dick as he filled in during Bruce's absence, as the crimes perpetrated in the city over the last few weeks had been mainly unpremeditated acts of violence rather than large-scale threats to the city. 

And Dick was grateful for the quiet. As awful as it was when Bruce went on one of his "There IS no Bruce Wayne" kicks and operated solely as Batman, it certainly scared the bejeesus out of the scum of Gotham. If Batman was merciless when he was in a good mood, he was about a thousand times more bruising when his personal life was in a state of collapse. They had all learned that two years ago when the murder verdict had come down.

He'd crawled into bed sometime around 6am. Babs had promised to call in sick for him and Dick agreed readily. It might be better to change up his lies now and then - having a woman's breathy voice explain that Officer Grayson wouldn't be reporting for duty was probably just as convincing as when Dick tried to fake sick on the phone. Alfred had never bought it during all those winter mornings when he'd been too exhausted from Bruce's training to force himself out of bed for school, and Amy was at least as perceptive as Alfred.

It was the soft clack of keystrokes that finally roused Dick. The light slanting in from the Clocktower's windows indicated it was at least late afternoon. He yawned, stretched, and crossed the apartment into the Oracle Control Room, his skin pimpling a little in the room kept chilly for the benefit of so much computer equipment.

"Hey," Dick said by way of greeting, raising his eyebrows at the sight of Bruce hunched before Oracle's main computer, scrolling through a list of names. He knew her passwords. Babs was going to be pissed.

"Where's Barbara?"

"Shopping with Cassandra," Bruce replied. "Selina wanted me to run some names."

"Huh," Dick yawned, scratching at the afternoon shadow sprinkling his chin. He retreated to use the bathroom and dress. By the time he returned to the computer room, Bruce was scrutinizing a few hundred sheets of computer printout, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"So…how was Hawaii?" Dick ventured to ask. Bruce simply grunted in response, his attention focused on the papers. "How'd the appointment with Leslie go?" he tried again.

That, at least, elicited a response. Bruce glanced up, briefly, then lowered his eyes to the printouts. "Fine."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Well, I kept the home fires burning, but I'm glad you're back because-"

"There's a significant increase in the exchanges between Falcone Imports and their contacts in Southeast Asia."

Dick clamped his mouth shut. Fine, so this was a business meeting, not a social call. "Some drug thing," he explained. "I shut down the traffic on our end. Barbara sent Dinah to Thailand to figure the rest out."

He hated this. It felt like he was back in junior high and Bruce was going over his report card. He'd left him in charge of Gotham, dammit. He shouldn't have to justify every little-

"The Creeper was sighted in the Upper East Side last night."

Another criticism delivered as fact. Dick sighed.

"Yeah, Tim checked it out. Turns out it was some kind of costume party."

"In August?"

Dick shrugged. "Look, it's been quiet. The fact that you're bringing up The Creeper is proof of how quiet it's been. Now I'll ask again how you and Selina are doing, and this time I'd like an answer."

He'd finally distracted him enough to get Bruce to look him in the eye. "We're-"

"Don't say fine," Dick warned with a grin. "Use some kind of modifier, at least. Make use of that fancy education of yours."

It was payback, of course. Dick hadn't slept in three weeks and he'd accumulated enough bruises and sore muscles in Gotham despite the city's 'quiet' status to make teasing Bruce more appealing than usual. In addition, he was simply, desperately curious. So were Barbara and Tim. "I'm not going to have to call her 'stepmom', am I?"

Bruce's response was simple: a glare so chilling that Dick actually shivered, although he blamed the Clocktower's excellent air conditioning system. There was something lurking under the glare that Dick wasn't accustomed to seeing in Bruce's face, some faint trace of unease or pain. His adopted father was usually more adept at hiding such things.

"You two aren't-"

"We're fine," Bruce said sharply, cutting him off. "There was a body discovered in Sheridan Park late this morning. I suggest you start with the Falcones and their Asian 'drug thing'," Bruce told him, his tone derisive.

Dick shrugged it off. "Bruce," he said, his voice quiet. "If you ever need to talk about…anything, you can talk to me. I know you and Jim aren't speaking right now," he said in a rush, declining to point out that he'd heard that particular piece of information from Barbara rather than Bruce. "And Alfred is still working at the clinic. I mean, I know I'm third string when it comes to this kind of thing, but-"

Bruce was staring at him, his gaze cool and remote. Dick halted, swallowing hard. Sometimes his own stupidity amazed him.

"Right. I know. You're fine."

Bruce didn't respond. He simply blinked, then turned to go. It was a moment before Dick had recovered enough to stop him. Better tell him now, Dick thought; he'd only find out later, and accuse Dick of either incompetence or outright deception.

"I met with Vic last night."

His words brought Bruce to a halt in Barbara's living room. The big man turned, his shoulders tense. Waiting.

"He doesn't know where she is."

Bruce nodded. Dick shook his head, wondering why he bothered. They could do this for years, just stand and watch each other. Stare until one of them said something to fill the silence. They'd been doing it since he was eleven, and Dick was always the first to speak.

"So she's gone. We're out of options. Unless you really don't want to find her."

Bruce's head snapped around, eyes locking with Dick's, almost terrifying in their intensity. "Helena has to answer for she did to Selina."

The expression on Bruce's face made Dick turn away. The cold, emotionless façade was somehow better than the few times Bruce let the mask slip. The way his eyes looked without that buffer of detachment never failed to remind Dick of the dark currents of emotion running through the man who had raised him. Sometimes he forgot who Bruce really was in favor of what he wanted him to be. They were all guilty of that, to some degree.

Dick cleared his throat, rubbing his shoulder against the wall. "If you really want to find her," he tried again, "you know where we have to start looking."

His expression was shuttered again, back to the cool reserve. Dick found it easier to look at Bruce. "Checkmate," he murmured. Dick nodded.

"Think she went to them?"

"It's a possibility," Bruce acknowledged. "And you're right, of course. I was reluctant to ask them anything about Helena. But we are out of options."

Dick didn't ask why Bruce had been so hesitant. He knew he wouldn't get an answer. The air between them cleared a little, that strange mixture of animosity dissipating. They rarely fought, now. Dick had decided to love him despite his faults. And Bruce…

Bruce had said he thought of him as a son. That was important. It was just so damn hard to forgive the past, sometimes.

Just before passing through the door on his way out, Bruce turned to speak. "It's a girl," he said softly. "Selina's due mid-December."

Dick felt his face split into a wide grin and before he could reconsider he crossed the room and clapped Bruce on the back. "That's great! A girl, huh? I guess Babs and Cass can stop complaining about being outnumbered."

"Who's complaining?" Barbara asked from just outside the open door. Bruce held it open for her as she wheeled herself in, a few bags bearing the logos of design houses balanced on her lap. Cassandra trailed behind, her head bowed. She seemed embarrassed to be seen by Bruce, the incriminating shopping bags she held a sign of abdication from her training regimen.

Dick had expected Bruce to slip out of the room amid the confusion, but he lingered, waiting for Cassie and Barbara to stow their bags.

"Did you review that fight schematic I downloaded into the cave simulators?" Bruce asked Cassandra. She nodded, eager to demonstrate her preparedness. "How far?"

"Level 16," Cassie replied, her voice strong, sure of itself. Like she was being debriefed. Dick wanted to tell her that this was just Bruce's way of being social. Poor kid.

"So, how was Hana?" Barbara asked, finger-combing her hair that had frizzed slightly in the heat. "Did you and Selina have a good time?"

"I already asked, Babs," Dick grinned. "He wouldn't admit to more than 'fine'."

Bruce ignored the exchange. "Barbara-" he hesitated, and Barbara stared at him, better than Dick at playing the waiting game. "I need you to run this name for me," he said, handing over a slip of paper with 'Sullivan' scribbled across it. "Victims of arson in the East End. Make it a priority. Selina may come to collect the information tonight."

"You don't want it for yourself?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "It isn't my case."

"So she's setting boundaries," Barbara smiled, turning herself in the chair. "Good for her."

"I…I should be going," Bruce muttered, nodding at Barbara and Cassie. "Lucy and Selina are waiting in the car."

At the sound of Lucy's name, Barbara narrowed her eyes. Even Cassie looked a little surprised. Bruce didn't seem to notice, although Dick knew he'd probably been more aware of the sudden shift in the room than any of them. He left quietly, not even the soft pad of his footsteps on the carpeted hallway outside permeating the apartment's walls. Cassie vanished into the kitchen to search for a snack. Barbara glanced at Dick, digging through one of her shopping bags.

"I was really hoping the sun and sex would lighten up his disposition," she remarked.

"Just remember who we're talking about," Dick told her, catching an object she removed from the bag and lobbed at him.

"Seen today's papers?"

* * *

She felt the baby move that night. 

They had just finished dinner and Selina was alternating between reading over the information Bruce had obtained from Oracle and a "Pregnancy and You" handbook Leslie had given them. At the first faint, fluttering movement, Selina pushed herself back from the table, a little startled. It was a strange sensation, almost like a soft bubbling from deep within her abdomen. Lucy, who was playing on the kitchen floor by Selina's feet with some brightly-colored plastic blocks, glanced up.

"Selina?"

Selina smiled, slipping a hand beneath her blouse to touch her stomach gently. She felt the fluttering again.

"C'mere," Selina invited. Lucy stood, approaching with a little apprehension. Selina took her hand and set the little girl's palm on the slight bulge of her stomach. Lucy frowned, and then a moment later widened her eyes.

"Is that…"

"Yep," she grinned. "That's the new kid in town. Get Bruce for me, okay?"

Lucy nodded, turned, and made her way down the hallway, her uneven gait forcing her to go slow. She knocked on the bedroom door and entered a moment later.

"Mr. Bruce?"

Bruce, breathing hard and sweating after doing more than three hundred pushups, paused, one massive arm supporting him as he hovered above the floor, every muscle tense. "Lucy? Something wrong?"

"Selina wants you. The baby…"

Bruce's eyes widened in fear and he was up and halfway down the hall before Lucy could turn around. His heart raced, a succession of images flashing before his eyes: Selina bleeding out, the baby vanished in a late miscarriage, the woman he loved dead on the kitchen floor…

Instead, Selina was sitting comfortably at the table, her hand on her stomach, an enormous grin plastered across her face. "Check it out!" she invited. "And stop scowling so much; you'll scare the cats."

He crossed the room slowly, as unsure as Lucy had been, brushing mewling felines out of the way with his feet. Keeping his eyes on her face, Bruce crouched down beside her and slid his hand along her belly, coming to rest just above her belly button.

"What-" he began to ask, but movement beneath his hand silenced the question. A soft fluttering, like a small tremor beneath the earth, rippled against the tight skin of Selina's stomach.

Bruce softened his touch, curving his palm to fit more gently against her abdomen. He waited a moment, and felt it again. "This just started?"

She nodded, eyes shining. "Crazy, huh? There's…there's actually something in there."

"You saw the sonogram-"

Selina shrugged. "I'm more of a tactile person. So," she said, addressing her belly, "you're the one responsible for all the morning sickness and the dizziness…and the breast swelling, although he probably won't complain about that," she smiled. Selina met his eyes, humor fading and replaced by something softer, more intangible. "What have we done, Bruce?"

He shook his head, looking up at her, his large hand still cradling her belly. He had never prepared himself for this – it was far greater than anything else he had ever done in his life, the Mission included. Love for her, and love for their child, made his voice soft, more gentle than he usually allowed.

"Something good, I think," he replied. He helped her to stand and grabbed a towel hanging from the oven door, drying the sweat from his torso as he led her to the couch in the living room.

"Thanks," she said as he helped her to sit, sinking down and rubbing her back. Lucy watched from the doorway and Selina held out her arms, inviting her over. Six months, and Lucy still hesitated, still waited to be invited. The little girl snuggled up next to her on the couch happily. Bruce sat beside them, his arm around Selina's shoulders, one hand on her belly. He watched Lucy's face for a moment as the little girl did the same, searching for some reaction. Did she sense anything? Selina was dark to her, but perhaps Lucy could read the baby, catch some signal as to the child's future…

He forced himself to stop. Promises to keep.

They sat there for a long time together in the gathering darkness of the living room, only the hum of fans whispering in the silence. Soon he could feel Selina's heartbeat against his hand. The soft, natural scent of her skin and shampoo filled his nostrils, and even his olfactory training deserted him long enough to enjoy the smell and feel of her without cataloging or quantifying it. Perhaps that was Selina's greatest gift to him: the ability to let go. It had started with sex, but now it had expanded to fill this small room and deliver the sensation of something he hadn't felt for many, many years.

Family.

* * *

Summer drew to a close, and things continued much as they had in Gotham for nearly twenty years. Violence reigned as the intense heat and an unfortunately-timed garbage strike made living in the inner city nearly unbearable. Selina and Lucy watched the rioting and crime statistics play out over the Channel Six news every night. The reports were almost always punctuated by mention of the increased presence of Gotham's resident vigilantes on the summer streets. Bruce most often disappeared around eight or nine in the evening and reappeared sometime just after dawn, drawing Selina close before falling into exhausted, dreamless sleep. After a few hours, they would rise, prepare breakfast together (although Selina despaired of teaching him to make anything more complicated than toast) and Bruce would leave for work at the Wayne Towers. 

Selina and Lucy spent the mornings together shopping, going to the park or hitting up the library for more reading material. The Gotham City Public Library was Lucy's favorite place in the world; she was happiest when curled next to Selina in the children's section in one of the big red leather chairs donated by the Wayne Foundation, absorbing the stories Selina was teaching her to read. Lucy didn't like touching the books themselves, as she often picked up telepathic vibrations from the much-lent volumes. Not all of the children who borrowed books from the Gotham Library were happy or loved.

After lunch, Selina would drop Lucy off at Holly and Karon's and then head into the Bowery to Slam's office. There had been a lot of deaths in the East End that summer; street violence had increased exponentially in the heat, and strange fires and murders had grown all too common. All the victims were unconnected, at least as far as Selina and Slam could tell, but something kept bringing her back to the Sullivan murder. The Oracle files on the elderly couple hadn't provided much in the way of information, but Selina couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to the case, something that hovered on the periphery of her mind. Something important.

Slam seemed to delight in teasing her, of course, ribbing her at her newfound detective instinct. Selina simply smiled and denied the whole idea. "Not my bag," she said. "I prefer to leave that to you tough-guy types."

"Tough guys?"

She grinned. "Y'know, the ones who talk like the leads in those old Warner gangster movies, who say 'broad' and 'cement shoes' a lot. The guys who always get their man."

"That's the Mounties."

Selina shrugged, yawning. The incredible heat trapped in Slam's box-like office left her feeling sleepy and she moved to the couch, putting her feet up on the scarred old coffee table. She pointedly ignored yesterday's edition of the _Gotham Post_, which featured yet another cover story about Bruce Wayne's secret affair with a "preggers" mystery lady. Worse than the _Post'_s overdramatic hyperbole was its consistent butchery of the English language. Selina sniffed delicately in derision, and glanced up at Slam.

"I'm thinking of having a barbeque."

Slam, seated behind the desk, paused in his constant shuffling of their case notes. "Oh yeah?"

She nodded. "I thought it might be good for Lucy. She doesn't see a lot of other children right now. Bruce knows some people who have kids. I think."

Slam raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean, Bruce Wayne knows some people, or Batman knows some superheroes who have kid sidekicks?"

"Both, I guess," Selina shrugged. "And I thought you could meet the rest of…the rest of his family. Dick and Barbara and Tim and Cassie." At his confused look, she clarified. "Nightwing and Oracle and Robin and Batgirl."

"Oh," he grunted. "Sister, that's some weird family you're getting involved in."

"Don't I know it," she smiled. "It's just…this kid is going to be a part of something. I'd like that support system to be there, in case-"

"In case one night Bruce doesn't come home?"

Selina blinked, her hand on her stomach. "You bring that up like the idea never occurred to me."

"Well, a healthy sense of self-delusion is probably important to your new romance, kiddo."

"Self-delusion is essential," she agreed. "But that's true of every relationship I've ever had, present company included."

"Ouch."

Selina shrugged. "You want honesty, right? Anyway, Lucy, me, and this baby are a part of Bruce's life now. And his family has to come to terms with that sooner or later. I'd just like it to be a little sooner, for Bruce's sake."

"Don't tell me he's subject to their approval?"

"Of course – but don't tell him that. Why do you think I went to them when he was thinking of using Lucy as some kind of telepathic crime detector?"

"But they didn't back you up on Lucy, did they?" Slam asked, and Selina closed her eyes.

"Ouch."

His face stayed immobile. "You wanted honesty."

Selina sighed. "It was because of me. I'm not sure it really had anything to do with Lucy, or the mission, or Bruce's desire to take in orphaned kids and make them into self-righteous little pricks. To them, I'm still a jewel thief and a criminal."

"But you **are** still a jewel thief and a criminal," he reminded her gently. "At least, you're still operating outside the law, sometimes for your own personal gain, or to help out me or Holly or Karon. Do you blame them for hesitating before they call you a good guy?"

"Jeeze, ask for a little support and-"

Slam shook his head. "I don't play that game with you. I never have. You need someone to cut through those layers of bullshit you like to drown yourself in, Sel. You're never gonna be a hero to those kids. Best you can hope for is for them to respect you for what you are."

"And what am I?"

"The woman their boss and father is in love with."

His words hung between them. Selina watched dust floating in the path of sunlight, waving her hand through it when it threatened to settle.

"You know, the whole time I was in Smallville, no one asked me what I did for a career. Or why I was suddenly living with the Kents. Or who the father of the baby was. They just…they just accepted me."

"Kansas ain't Gotham, Selina."

She smiled. "Thank God. Anyway," she said, standing again, "I really have to get going. But if I do have this barbeque thing, would you come along? Maybe bring Holly and Karon with you?"

"I can't speak for the squirt, but if it's important to you, I'll be there," he replied, walking her to the door.

"Thanks," she said, standing on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. Slam smelled like bourbon and aftershave. A little like her father had. "You're a good friend, old man."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3: Labor Day

_CHAPTER THREE: Labor Day_

The first day of September dawned bright and sunny. Labor Day in Gotham meant speeches in Grant Park, fireworks and large crowds of people milling about the streets, getting in on the last party of the summer before resuming the deadening routine of school and work. And so, rare as it was for Gotham, there was a mood of celebration in the air, despite the threat of a star-spangled psychopath going on a killing spree. Historically, holidays did not go well in Gotham.

Perhaps that was why he was so apprehensive about this barbeque. Bruce was used to feeling guilty or distracted during social functions: if he was enjoying himself, it felt wrong because he was needed elsewhere. And if he wasn't enjoying himself…it was because he was needed elsewhere. And as amusing as that inherent contradiction was when he joked about it with Selina, hosting a social event on a major holiday bordered on irresponsibility. The invitations sent out for the barbeque gave him more reason for pause – the guest list was small but specific.

People who knew about the Mission. That's all.

The thought was enough to give him an ulcer.

However, Selina had been so committed to the idea of a party. He found it more difficult to resist her wishes than he was comfortable with. Perhaps it had been the way she posed the idea.

"Please?"

"No," he managed, watching her move above him in the dim moonlight of their bedroom. She flexed her thighs and he shuddered convulsively, fighting to retain control. If she would just stop moving for a moment he could concentrate and-

"Please?" More movement. And she was doing something with her tongue…

"Fine."

She was persuasive, to say the least. Bruce mentally forced himself back to the present. He watched as Selina and Lucy covered picnic tables in plastic red-and-white checked tablecloths and set up plates, napkins, utensils and condiments. He'd reopened Wayne Manor, at least partially, to play host. They could hardly entertain from Selina's East End apartment and if small children would be in attendance it was far better that they play on the spacious green lawns of Wayne Manor than in the streets of Crime Alley.

Barbara and Dick were the first to arrive, Dick walking slowly across the lawn to keep pace as Barbara wheeled herself over the uneven ground. Selina took Lucy's hand and approached the couple cautiously, but the child slipped from her grasp and ran to Dick, who scooped her up in a bear hug.

"Luce! Hi!" Dick said warmly, his natural affability and ease with children evident. Barbara watched the display for a moment, turning coolly to Selina.

"Hi. Beautiful day, huh?" Selina tried awkwardly. Barbara barely nodded. Dick, still holding Lucy, kissed Selina on the cheek and stepped back a little. The shape of her pregnancy had become much more evident over the past few weeks. She had started to buy maternity clothes and had forsaken her accustomed high-heeled Manilow Blahniks for sandals. Wearing a light yellow summer dress that did more to reveal her condition than hide it, Selina looked happy and relaxed. Inside, however, she knew she was facing the wolves.

"Don't look so nervous," Dick advised, whispering in her ear. "They're just people."

"Who've arrested me on numerous occasions," Selina reminded him. She thought Dick looked tired, a little worn-out. Still, he managed to smile and listen as Lucy began to tell him about the trip to Hawaii. Other cars began to pull up to the manor. Selina watched the arrivals with a sinking feeling, the glares Barbara had been shooting her way only adding to her apprehension. She felt better as Bruce came to stand by her side, taking her hand. He said nothing but continued to watch as people came across over the wide green lawn, her silent protector. She wanted to run, or maybe try to make him smile.

"Roy!" Dick called out, crossing the lawn to clap a tall, red-haired man on the back. Lucy hung back, eyeing the dark-haired little girl at Roy's side with visible apprehension.

"Grayson, hey," Roy replied happily. Selina watched as the two men embraced each other and grinned, smiling as Dick knelt to address the little girl.

"Hi, Lian. Glad you could come."

Lian beamed and caught sight of Barbara. "Hi, aunty Babs!" She sprinted across the lawn, launching herself into Barbara's lap. Barbara grinned, laughed, and hugged the little girl. Lucy watched the entire display with narrowed eyes, noting every detail from Lian's casual command of her body to the way Barbara received her, drawing closer to Selina for protection. Another car pulled up, and this time a petite blond woman with fantastic legs emerged, crossing around the car to help an older, thin and goateed man from the vehicle. Selina noted the man's wasted appearance and his use of a cane.

"Who's that?" she whispered into Bruce's ear.

"Oliver Queen. The Green Arrow. He and Dinah just returned from Southeast Asia. Malaria."

"Jesus!" she breathed.

"He'll be fine; he's survived worse," Bruce informed her sardonically.

Another man, younger than the first Dick had addressed as Roy, got out of the backseat. The small group approached and Selina stepped forward, her hand slipping reluctantly from Bruce's grip. "Hi," she said, hoping she sounded friendly. Queen, Dinah and Roy all focused their attention on her, each looking slightly confused. She took a deep breath, telling herself that if she could disarm the security protocols of the most sophisticated vaults in existence, meeting Bruce's friends shouldn't be so hard.

"Selina Kyle. We've met, I think?" she said, extending her hand. Dinah was the first to react. She brushed Selina's hand aside, hugging her.

"Yeah, sure, that time on Apokalypse, the Watchtower thing during the Prometheus attack…" Dinah said, warm, wide blue eyes telegraphing friendship and support. Had the Black Canary always been this…nice? Selina couldn't remember. "When are you due?"

"Uh, December," Selina said, taken a little off-guard by the other woman's friendly demeanor and warm acceptance. Hard to believe this woman was a Gothamite. Dinah turned around, clasping Selina's hand.

"This is Ollie," she said, gesturing to the sickly-looking older man. "Excuse his Cryptkeeper appearance – two months in the Cambodian jungle can really take it out of you."

"I can imagine," Selina muttered just as Oliver Queen came to life, shooting an amused glare at Dinah.

"She really is a nice girl," Ollie assured Selina, "you just have to ignore the mouth."

Dinah pinched Oliver's arm, which made Selina grin. Feeling slightly more confident, she turned to the young man at Oliver's side.

"Conner," he said, extending his hand, and Selina instantly sensed his reserved, meditative nature.

"Selina," she replied. "Please, help yourselves to food, and don't let Bruce trap you into conversation."

Queen and Dinah chuckled, although Roy and Conner both glanced at Bruce to check for his reaction. Sidekicks, Selina realized. Who were afraid of Bruce. The thought made her grin.

More guests began to arrive. Lois and Clark landed by the river and approached from the west, making as low-key an entrance as possible given the fact that they'd **flown** in. Slam, Holly and Karon pulled up in Slam's dented old Plymouth, lingering for as long as possible in the car.

"Do we…do we really belong here?" Holly asked softly. Karon glanced at her girlfriend, squeezing her hand.

"Selina does," Slam reminded them. "And if we want to be a part of what she's doing now…well, let's go make ourselves sociable."

"Just try not to punch anyone," Holly said, hopping out of the car. She paused, wide-eyed, at the sight of an impossibly tall, beautiful black-haired woman landing gracefully near the cars. She alone had come in costume, which allowed Holly and Karon to recognize her instantly.

"Wonder Woman?" Karon murmured, a little in shock. "Holly, how does Selina know all these people?"

Holly glanced at Slam, who simply shrugged and lit a Duke. Thanks Slam, Holly thought.

"Uh, Catwoman's been in the business a long time. She knows people."

Karon pursed her lips. "I would have said Bruce Wayne knows Wonder Woman – it's a little more credible. When were you going to tell me that he was Batman, anyway?"

Holly's mouth dropped open. She again looked to Slam for help, but he was busy studying the battlements of Wayne Manor. His message was clear: you're on your own with this one, squirt. Holly bit her lip.

"I guess we should talk about some of this…"

* * *

Diana, Lois, Barbara, Cassandra and Dinah clustered around the refreshment table, munching on hamburgers and swapping war stories. Dinah related the details of her mission to Thailand and Cambodia, although Barbara noted some rather significant omissions in the story. Diana and Lois chatted about some new UN resolutions passed during yesterday's session, but mostly the women kept an eye on Bruce and Selina. 

Bruce, always so self-restrained and imposing, seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. He even smiled at a few of Oliver's jokes, and he kept in constant physical contact with Selina, always rubbing her shoulder or encircling an arm about her waist.

"I feel sorry for her," Diana said softly after a few moments. "Despite what she has done. Bruce is a…complicated man. I think it will be very difficult for them to be happy."

"Happiness is relative in this job," Dinah sniffed, wolfing down another hot dog. "You find somebody who makes you happy, who's great in the sack, who you can get along with. Then you love him like hell until the world falls apart. Only option we have, really."

Barbara nodded, clearly a little bored by the subject. She'd spent too much time in the last few months discussing Selina Kyle to find much of interest in it anymore. "I think it's mostly because of the baby," she said quietly. "If she hadn't gotten pregnant, I'm pretty sure Bruce wouldn't have gone after her."

The women fell silent, not knowing quite what to say at Barbara's unexpected bitterness. Lois narrowed her eyes, smelling a story but unwilling to pursue the issue quite so openly. A good reporter learned subtlety and timing as a necessary skill. "I'm sure she has her flaws..."

"And Bruce has his," Barbara admitted quickly. "But for some reason, those flaws are more forgivable in him. They make him human. I'm still not sure what Selina is."

Diana regarded Selina carefully, her hand coming to rest unconsciously on her golden lasso. She frowned, the expression worthy of a classical portrait or an opera. She had thought, at one time, that she and Bruce might have made one another happy, but she did not begrudge him the joy he had clearly found with the Catwoman. Still, if there was a chance this woman would betray him-

"Excuse me," Diana said, taking her leave of the other women. Lois and Dinah exchanged a worried glance.

"I know that look," Lois whispered. "Diana's going to work her mojo."

"Terrific. They'll either engage in mortal combat or Wondy'll have someone to compare notes with. I think Bruce should be terrified," Dinah pointed out, marking the Amazon's progress across the lawn.

Barbara's eyes narrowed as Diana stopped to say something to Bruce. Barbara wasn't certain that her fears about Selina's inevitable betrayal of the Mission were at all justified, but she was glad someone on the superhero team had taken the initiative to discover Selina's motivations. At Bruce's nod, Diana went into the house, trailing Selina into the Manor's kitchen.

"Thanks for offering to help – I'm still not much good in the kitchen," Selina was saying, hoping she didn't sound as if she were talking too much. Diana observed her quietly, her intense blue eyes following Selina's every move.

Selina began to lay out another round of hot dog and hamburger buns on a serving platter, adding mustard and ketchup to the breads. She laid out a piece of cheese on each, and was about to pick up the tray and escape the Amazon's cool regard when Diana finally spoke.

"There are some concerns," Diana began gently, waiting for Selina to turn and face her. When she didn't, Diana frowned. She knew this woman to be a thief and a liar; she had never suspected Catwoman of cowardice.

"Concerns? From whom?" Selina asked, willing herself to keep the edge out of her voice. She had expected someone to say something, but had guessed it would be Barbara. Selina had thought – hoped – that Wonder Woman would restrain herself, practice some of that famous Amazonian diplomacy. Obviously, the superhero set considered her relationship with Bruce to be a bigger threat than she'd anticipated.

"Barbara Gordon believes that you will hurt him."

Selina leaned on the counter, squeezing her eyes shut and counting to five. The cruelty of the accusation felt like a blow to her solar plexus. "And what do you think?"

"I do not know," Diana replied, coming to stand next to her. "I do not know you. I have learned during my time in Man's World to judge people by their actions. And I know enough of your history to doubt your intentions."

Selina snapped her head up to meet Diana squarely in the eyes. It was not easy to hold the goddess' gaze: Selina thought for a moment that she had never seen anyone so pure, so good, so righteous. Clark concealed his essential goodness behind a mask of farm-boy humility, but Wonder Woman's royal heritage only served to accentuate her pride and self-confidence. She did not blink, and it was Selina who first looked away.

"What is it about me that you people find so threatening?" Selina muttered, turning to stare out the window. She watched the others mingle together on the lawn, talking easily, sharing a laugh or two. Bruce and Clark were in deep conversation; she often wondered what they found to talk about, given their disparate personalities and very different approaches to life. Perhaps it said something about the nature of those two men, that they could have absolutely nothing in common...and be the best of friends.

"We do not understand you," Diana said quietly. Selina turned to meet her eyes once again, and this time the Amazon's gaze was soft, compassionate. "You once stole for a living, hurting others and rarely letting it trouble your conscience. And now...now you work for the side of the angels. I suppose we worry when the pendulum will swing back the other way."

Selina sighed, leaning back against the counter and folding her arms across her chest. "Yeah, uncertainty is a bitch, I'll give you that." She paused, considering Wonder Woman's face. "I guess it doesn't matter to you why I started to steal, or even why I decided to stop."

"There is a way I could know, for certain, what your intentions are," Diana offered, placing a hand on the lasso hung at her hip. "It could be a gesture of good faith, on your part."

"Just what is it that you suspect me of?" Selina finally asked, shocked. So it had come to this? She wondered what had possessed her to ever believe she had a chance with these people.

Diana shrugged. "Inconstancy," she said simply. The two women locked eyes for a moment, neither of them backing down. Finally, silently, Selina extended her wrist.

"Get it over with," she sighed.

Diana began to uncoil her lasso, but paused. She glanced at the window, locating Bruce amidst the small crowd. He was watching Lian and Lucy play, his stance relaxed, arms folded across his chest. In eight years, Diana could not remember a single time when she had seen her friend so happy, so at peace. She did not know if it was the doing at the woman who now so bravely offered to bare her soul, or if it was only a deeper kind of change at work in Bruce himself. Whatever its source, she welcomed the shift. Diana replaced her lasso.

"Perhaps, for now, ignorance is best," she decided. Selina's eyes asked a question. Diana glanced at Bruce again outside the kitchen window.

"Happiness does not last in this world," Diana said. "I have learned that, at least. Perhaps it is best not to question it when it does arrive, nor grieve too much when it departs."

"Very zen," Selina said dryly. "You know...I'd step in front of a bullet for him. And maybe if, someday, things fall apart and I go back to my bad old ways...I'd still step in front of a bullet meant for Bruce, and he'd do the same for me. That's how it's always been between us."

"I suppose that is part of what concerns us," Diana said softly.

* * *

Another, very late addition to the afternoon party pulled up in a Plymouth ancient and dented enough to give Slam's car a run for its money. A tall, slender man dressed in a trenchcoat and fedora stepped out of the car, cutting the engine. Slam, who had been leaning against the hood of his car, stood up a little straighter, dropping his cigarette to the ground and snuffing it out with his shoe. The two men eyed each other, then grinned. 

"Great taste in fashion, pal," Slam smiled, extending his hand. "Slam Bradley, P.I. Selina's friend."

"John Jones," the other man replied politely, shaking hands with a firm grip. "Pleased to meet you. You operate out of Gotham?"

"Yessir," Slam replied, settling back against the Plymouth's hood. "For about three years now. Before that, Star City, and Central before that. Metropolis for a little while, too."

Jones nodded, scanning the grounds and checking to see who was in attendance. "How do you know Selina?"

"It's a funny story, really, and takes a long time to tell. Let's just say I met her on the job. You?"

"I don't know her very well, actually," Jones replied. "I'm hoping to change that. I wanted to meet her, and her little girl."

"So you're…Bruce's friend?" Slam prompted, hoping he hadn't said something he shouldn't have. Did Jones know about Wayne's double life? He could see right now keeping all these secret identities straight was going to be a hell of a headache.

"Yes, the Batman and I are good friends," Jones replied, as if sensing Slam's discomfort. "We…met on the job, as well."

"Hmm," Slam muttered, "didn't know he had any friends." He was about to light his Duke when something in the stranger's posture changed, fear imprinted on his bland Midwestern features. "Something wrong?" Slam asked instantly, paused with the lighter in his hand. Jones backed away.

"Forgive me," he said softly. "I'm afraid fire makes me nervous."

Slam instantly clicked his lighter shut and pocketed it, then tossed the cigarette to the ground. "I should quit anyway. They say these things'll kill you."

Jones met his eyes evenly, searchingly, and then smiled sadly and shook his head. "No, my friend. Cigarettes will not kill you."

With that, Jones moved off down the lawn towards the rest of the group.

Slam whistled, long and low. "So that's a Martian. Huh."

* * *

"J'onn!" Clark called out in greeting at the approaching figure. J'onn J'onz smiled slightly in greeting, shaking hands with Clark and Oliver. 

"My friends, good to see you. Oliver, I am glad to see you are well."

"Thanks, Kermit," Oliver replied, grinning, "But the jury's still out. Seems me and ol' _Plasmodium malariae_ are gonna be bunkmates for a while."

"I am sorry to hear that," J'onn said gently. He turned to Bruce and Selina, extending his hand.

"Hello," he said. "I am J'onn Jonze, the Martian Manhunter. You must be Catwoman."

Selina smiled broadly. Bruce had told her about this one. "Not right now. Right now, I'm just Selina. Are you comfortable like that? Feel free to slip into something a little more natural. You're among friends."

J'onn blinked and nodded slightly in gratitude. He understood now why this woman had come into Bruce's life and, more importantly, why she'd remained there. Without further hesitation, Detective John Jones of the Colorado police force disappeared, replaced by a six-foot-four, green skinned, red-eyed Martian. Selina barely blinked.

"I get a little tired of masks sometimes," she confided in him. J'onn nodded again, glancing for a moment at Bruce. He had been watching the exchange intently, a thoughtful expression on his face. When J'onn had shifted shape, Bruce had moved a little closer to Selina, a protective instinct overriding his trust and affection for his friend. J'onn recognized all this, smiling slightly.

The sound of a final arrival drew Bruce's attention and, upon recognizing the vehicle, he excused himself and made his way back to the parking lot, his purposeful stride faltering slightly when he saw the car contained only one occupant rather than two.

Leslie Tompkins forced herself to let go of the steering wheel and emerged from the car, brushing the wrinkles out of her skirt. "Hello, dear," she said, taking Bruce's hand and letting him buss her on the cheek. "Good turnout, hmm?"

"Yes," Bruce agreed, shuttering his expression rather than reveal any further disappointment. "Selina's a big hit."

"She's a charmer - that's what she does," Leslie agreed, taking Bruce's arm as they walked slowly to where the rest of the party was gathered. "You're very lucky to have her, you know? I think she will bring a great deal of sunlight to this dreary old home. And with the baby coming-"

"What was his excuse?" Bruce asked, cutting her off.

Leslie frowned. "He didn't offer one. I suppose he didn't believe it was necessary."

Bruce looked away, his body tightening in anger. "I wanted him to be here, Leslie. It was important to me, and to Selina."

"Perhaps you could have called, then," Leslie admonished gently. "Or come in person. He's not made of granite. A simple apology…"

"How can I apologize?" Bruce asked, coming to a stop to face her. "How can I ask forgiveness for what I did?"

Leslie's eyes widened in surprise. "I thought-" she breathed deeply. "I thought you were angry with him, for betraying you."

Bruce shook his head. "He did what he thought was right. I was acting, as always, in my own best interests without regard for the feelings of others. Whether I was right or not to use Lucy as I did – and I believe I was right," he added calmly, "I should not have put Alfred in that position."

"And have you told him that?" Leslie asked. Bruce shook his head. Leslie glanced up at the cloudless blue sky, squinting a little in the sunlight. "You know, I think he was more disappointed in himself than anything else. He's learned over the years that it is impossible to sway you from a given course. We've both learned that lesson. But we still believe we can try. Alfred is not a man who accepts failure easily. Where do you think you got it from?"

"Do you think he was right, to take Lucy and go to Selina?" Bruce asked her. Leslie sighed.

"You would have transformed that girl. Into what, I am not certain. But I truly believe she is better with both of you looking out for her, guiding her, than she would be alone with either you or Selina. Lucy has the potential to be one of the most powerful metahumans on the planet. But for now…" she paused, tempering her response. "But for now she simply needs two good, decent, loving parents."

"And she'll have to settle for us."

"That's not very funny, Bruce," Leslie said.

"Wasn't meant to be. At any rate," Bruce said, perking up slightly, "enjoy the party. Selina went to a lot of trouble for this."

"I hope she's not straining herself, Bruce," Leslie said sharply. "Is she eating more?"

He nodded, then paused, smiling slightly. "I came home from work the other day and found her asleep on the couch, surrounded by those cats of hers. She blamed the heat, but it's just the second trimester. She won't admit to any weakness."

"I'm glad it amuses you."

"I identify with it, Leslie," Bruce replied simply. "She's stubborn and irreverent and she pushes herself too hard, and I can't for the life of me figure out why she came back. I'm…I'm only grateful she did."

Leslie glanced up at him but Bruce's face was, as always, impossible to read. She didn't feel it appropriate to point out that his quiet statement about Selina was the closest he had ever come to admitting he loved someone, apart from his parents. Leslie wondered if it was as significant as it seemed.

* * *

The afternoon passed, everyone relaxing more as the day wore on. Holly and Karon, who had only recently emerged from some forgotten wing of the Wayne manor, a little flushed from argument but closer to mutual understanding, still hung back from the others, overwhelmed by the heroic stature of their company. Everyone else seemed involved in a match of tag football at the north end of the park, which changed dramatically once Wonder Woman entered the fray. 

Lian made a few gestures towards friendship with Lucy and finally, after much coaxing, the two little girls began to play together with Mr. Pickles and some of the toy dump trucks Lian had brought with her in the car. Bruce noticed J'onn's careful study of the two girls and approached his old friend softly.

"What do you think of her?"

J'onn shifted his weight, considering Bruce's question carefully. "She has much power. I believe Selina listed her abilities as telekinesis, telepathy and precognition?"

Bruce nodded. J'onn returned his attention to the two girls as they played on the shady, grassy lawn of the Manor's grounds. "Her power may rival my own one day."

Bruce closed his eyes. "And what sort of future do you believe she will have?"

J'onn narrowed his eyes. "Why do you ask? Do you fear for her safety? Or the safety of others?"

"I don't know, J'onn. Metahumans do not earn their powers, and as a result they do not have the self-knowledge needed to temper their abilities."

"We have had this argument before, my friend," J'onn said. "Many times. As always, I find it ironic, given the people you consider your closest friends, that you are so innately suspicious of metahumans. Not every such person is predisposed to violence and destruction. I would think Dinah Lance, Clark, Diana and myself are examples of that principle."

"But the potential is still here, J'onn. That potential for evil."

J'onn glanced at his old friend, so focused on Lucy and Lian in their play. "Is that truly what you see when you look at Lucy? Only what may happen?"

"What do you see?" Bruce asked, rather than answer. J'onn couldn't shake the feeling that even now Bruce was formulating a protocol to neutralize whatever threat Lucy represented. Did he have a bed at S.T.A.R. labs already reserved for the little girl?

"I see a child who has been very badly abused and mistreated," J'onn replied. "One from whom everything has been stripped away, and one who will know great pain in later life when certain truths about who she is and where she came from are revealed. She needs someone to protect her, Bruce, not suspect her. She needs a father."

Bruce showed no outward reaction to J'onn's advice. Instead, he shifted attention to Dick, Conner and Roy as they made a try past Diana's end and were repelled by the Amazon.

"Selina asked some very tough questions about why I brought Dick on as a partner. And Jason, and Tim. I had no answers for her."

J'onn nodded. "I suppose 'love' was not an acceptable reply?"

Bruce sighed, feeling much older than he was. "Sometimes it's the only thing that makes sense. That and loneliness. But Lucy won't be a soldier in my crusade, J'onn. Selina made that very clear. I'm not sure how to relate to her, otherwise. What business do I have with a child I'm not training as an equal?"

"And you don't believe you could love her? Perhaps think of her as a daughter?"

Bruce did not reply. J'onn returned his attention to the girls. "Lian is very lucky. She is a normal, healthy little girl. But do you suppose that is why Roy loves her? Because she is not a metahuman?"

"I don't know why people love each other, J'onn," Bruce said. "I only know why they can't."

* * *

...to be continued... 


	4. Chapter 4: What Dreams May Come

Title: Days of the Advent

Author: Nos4a2no9

Characters/Pairings: Batman/Catwoman, Nightwing/Oracle, others

Rating: MA for explicit language and adult themes.

Disclaimer: No profit for the lowly fanficcer – it is a poor life, but a rich one.

Notes: This story is **incomplete**. It's been sitting on my hard drive for almost two years, but I do intend finish it. Please r/r and let me know if you're interested in seeing the saga conclude sometime this century. "Advent" is a sequel to "Children of the Night," a huge multi-part story which you can find archived at my website. You can find a link to both the site and to the story in my author profile.

Summary: Bruce and a now-pregnant Selina clash over crimefighting and their relationship, all the while contending with a new threat to the city of Gotham.

**DAYS OF THE ADVENT**

**Chapter Four: What Dreams May Come**

A soft noise made Selina open her eyes. She felt incredibly drowsy and hot, and her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with dry cotton. She rubbed her tongue along the roof of her mouth. Ketchup-flavored cotton. Or was that from the hamburgers?

It was dark in the little parlor off the main entranceway. She sat up and shook her head, trying to figure out what time it was. Wayne Manor was silent and echoing in its stillness. Selina frowned. The last thing she could remember, she had abandoned the Labor Day picnic she'd arranged to catch a quick cat-nap (no pun intended) on the chaise lounge in the parlor. The sun and all the stress of meeting Bruce's JLA friends had left her feeling drained.

Reluctantly she pushed herself off the chaise and made her way to the door, opening it to let the soft yellow light from the hallway flood into the room. Selina blinked, aware of the state of her clothing and hair. The fresh, pretty yellow sundress she'd put on this morning was now hopelessly wrinkled, and she smelled exactly like she'd been tossing and turning for hours in a hot, airless room.

"Ugh," she groaned, rubbing her eyes. If her fellow rogues could see her now. The old Catwoman would never let herself be seen in such a condition.

The Manor was empty. Selina had no logical reason for thinking it was so – the place was bigger than most hotels, and Bruce, Lucy and any lingering barbeque guests could have easily holed themselves up in one of the manor's hundred-plus rooms. Or they could be in the cave below the house, she reasoned, tilting her head to the side and listening for any human sound. But after a few moments of echoing silence, Selina returned to her first suspicion. The place was a tomb.

Selina made her way down the long, empty hall lined with tarnished silver suits-of-armor and old family portraits. Her sandals echoed on the bare wooden floors, and for a moment Selina entertained the fantasy that she'd fallen asleep and woken in some old Disney movie about haunted castles and talking animals. Feeling a little unnerved she slipped a comforting hand over her belly.

"We're okay, kid. Mom's just a little freaked out. Our secret, right?"

When she finally reached the kitchen Selina drew a glass of water from the tap, scanning the large, dark windows for signs of life on the lawn just outside. Only hours ago the grounds of stately Wayne Manor had been alive with the sounds of an impromptu game of football and the chattering of Bruce's small, exclusive group of super-powered friends. What in the hell had happened to everyone? Had she missed some major world-threatening disaster in the last three hours?

She downed the glass of cool water in a long gulp, her throat working to swallow against the anxiety she couldn't quite seem to conquer. It really was ridiculous – she'd lived on the streets from the time she was seventeen, and she'd faced down psychos like the Joker and gotten the best of megalomaniacs like Lex Luthor. A creepy old house couldn't possibly compare to the kind of danger and pain she'd known in the past.

"This is another one of those things I can blame on you, isn't it?" she muttered, addressing her belly. "It's the hormones, right? That, and I'm disorientated from sleeping in the middle of the afternoon. That's all," she said firmly, wishing the conviction in her voice could conquer the apprehension bubbling in her stomach. Things just felt so..._weird_.

From somewhere in the hallway behind her came the soft drip-drip-dripping of water. Selina shivered and turned, white-knuckled hands gripping the marble kitchen countertop. She blinked, but the sound didn't go away. In fact, it seemed to get a little louder.

"Could be anything," she told herself. "A leaky facet." And that toilet off the games room has a broken handle, she remembered. Bruce wasn't particularly interested in home maintenance, and with Alfred gone the toilet could have been left running unrepaired for months. She convinced herself to go and check. Hell, she needed to pee anyway.

Selina headed off down the hall, following the sound of dripping water. Her head no longer felt so fuzzy and she tried to relax, still telling herself she was being silly. She was in Bristol, for Chrissake! Nothing bad ever happened in the suburbs, especially not in a neighbourhood like Bruce's. The thought was at least a little comforting, and Selina paused at the closed door of the games-room bathroom. She placed her hand on the knob; it felt strangely warm, as though someone else's hand had been resting there only moments before. Swallowing hard, Selina turned the knob and let the door swing open.

She had a lot of bad memories. It was unavoidable, the kind of life she had led. Her father, drunk and angry, using his fists to tell her she'd been too noisy. Those assholes in Juvie, holding her down while they... And the things she'd done back in the bad old days when it was tough just to hustle enough money for food. On her knees on the cold ground, some man standing over her and smiling through his teeth as she brought him off, sometimes bent over a stairwell or a parked car while a guy had... Plenty of bad memories. But her worst – her worst was – her worst was spread out before her now in the games-room bathroom. The blood was Technicolor.

She couldn't seem to escape it. The bathtub was completely filled with red water; it cascaded over the side of the claw-toed tub, a red waterfall that smeared across the floor and threatened her feet. She leapt back, her sandals safely out of reach, and tried to control the involuntary shivers that coursed down her spine. She kept her hands locked in place, one gripping the doorknob, the other clenching and unclenching in the gathered folds of her skirt.

And the constant drip-drip-drip of the endless water echoed in the stillness of Wayne Manor.

Selina closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She counted carefully to three, determined that when she opened them the awful tableau before her would have vanished, the cold white porcelain fixtures restored to Alfred's exacting standards, all traces of the bloody water gone. But the drip-drip-drip didn't go away – she couldn't shut it out. It didn't stop, even when she placed her hands over her ears so tightly that she couldn't hear anything except her heart beating frantically against the wall of her chest.

But still, as if it was forcing itself up deep from inside her...the drip-drip-drip continued.

"Selina!"

Rough hands on her shoulders, shaking her awake. She let out a small moan, her head flopping back, and she kept her eyes clamped shut, still expecting to see blood-red water creeping across the bathroom floor. Instead... the hands on her shoulders gentled. She cracked an eye open, holding herself stiffly. She was still in the little parlor off the main hallway. Dusk had fallen, and the fading sunlight that managed to penetrate the blinds turned everything soft gold and red. Selina blinked, then swept her gaze over the man who had saved her from all that water.

Bruce, of course. The poor guy looked so worried for her she thought he was going to have a heart attack. His cobalt blue eyes – too clear and pretty, she'd always thought, for a man who hugged darkness so close to himself – were scanning her face over and over, checking for something to explain why she'd excused herself early from the barbeque to take a quick nap and then woken up screaming. Selina had no answers for him. Her throat felt swollen and very dry. She hardly noticed when Bruce brushed a sweat-damp tendril of hair from her forehead and hugged her close.

"You're fine," he murmured, and she listened to the deep rumble of his baritone, clinging tightly to what he said, to the comfort he offered. She couldn't quite prevent the ironic quirk of her lips. Usually she was the one saving him from his nightmares.

"I'm fine," she echoed, slipping a hand beneath Bruce's shirt to find the bare warmth of his back. She rubbed her fingers in slow circles against his skin, avoiding the rough patches where burns and old bullet wounds had left their marks. She needed to feel the parts of him that didn't carry those reminders of violence. Pretend, just for a moment, that they had both escaped the past unscathed.

"What were you dreaming about?" he asked her, and she halted in the slow stroking of her fingers. Bruce's question had caught her off guard. They never talked about their nightmares.

"Just-" Selina frowned. There was something... "I need to check something."

Bruce pulled back, and she shivered at the loss of his body heat. He regarded her carefully for a moment, then nodded. "Where?"

"The games room." She met his eyes darkly. "Come with me?"

He nodded and without questioning her further helped Selina to stand. Selina finger-combed her hair off her face and smoothed her wrinkled dress, her hands briefly lingering on her belly. She hoped she hadn't caused the kid any permanent psychic damage. Some of the books she'd been reading on mother-fetus connections suggested that any negative feelings experienced by the mother could be transmitted to the child. If so, she'd just telegraphed down a doozy.

"Everybody gone?"

Bruce nodded. "About an hour after you left for your nap. Lucy's asleep in her old room."

"I hope everyone had a good time."

"They did. Diana sent her thanks for the invitation. And Clark and Lois had a good time."

They had just reached the hall when Bruce stopped her. "If anything was wrong, you'd tell me, right?"

Selina nodded, brushing off his concern like she had the wrinkles from her dress. "I just need to check something."

They stopped at the kitchen and Bruce handed Selina a glass of water. She had to fight off the suffocating sensation of deja vu. Finally, they stood before the games-room bathroom, and Selina gripped Bruce's hand. His worried expression hadn't changed much, but he didn't press her or ask her any questions. Selina knew she'd never be able to answer them anyway.

"After the 'quake, did you remodel this bathroom?"

"No," he said slowly, recalling the changes he'd made to the Manor's blueprints after the house had been rebuilt. "This section didn't need a lot of work. This part of the house was built after the pool was put it – it wasn't attached to the older sections of the manor that collapsed."

Selina only half-heard Bruce's explanation. Something about the pool sparked a half-faded memory, but she didn't quite understand the connection her tired brain was trying to make. She'd been in this part of the house a hundred times in the years when she and Bruce had dated, and again recently as she recovered from Huntress' attack. Why only now did she-

"Did something happen tonight, Bruce? Something to call your friends away?"

Bruce laid his hands on her shoulders, bodily turning Selina towards him. She still avoided his gaze, scanning the bathroom and its few fixtures again and again. Bruce frowned and caught her chin in his hand, turning her head to face him. Those roving green eyes finally slipped to his, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Selina, what's going on?"

He hated the way fear had seeped into his question. Bruce had spent years – a lifetime – training to keep his tone flat, unemotional, his feelings deeply buried beneath a combination of role-playing and distraction. But Selina had always been able to unsettle him. She was an anchor, dragging along the surface he shrouded in deep waters, dredging up things he hadn't allowed himself to think or feel in decades. He hadn't yet decided whether he loved her or resented her for it.

"Just a bad dream," she murmured, slipping two cool, steady palms around his hand. She drew his hand to her cheek and brushed her lips over his palm, making him shiver with the sensual movement of her mouth. She had always been remarkably adept at bringing _that_ to the surface, too.

She turned away from the bathroom and kept hold of his fingers, casting one look back over her shoulder. Bruce wasn't sure what he saw in her gaze – fear, perhaps, in the cold sterile light of the bathroom. Selina's eyes warmed when they came to rest once again on his face. "Just a dream."

It served as some sort of explanation, he supposed. Bruce flipped the light switch, throwing the bathroom back into darkness. He followed her back down the hall and Selina surprised him slightly, turning before they had made it back to the kitchen and pressing her body against his. Her slight weight hardly made a difference against his huge frame but Bruce stepped back, feeling the hallway wall against his shoulders. She leaned into him, the soft heaviness of her breasts against his chest, her scent filling his nostrils. Vanilla and baby powder. Bruce closed his eyes.

He felt her breath wisp against the part of his neck exposed above the open collar of his shirt. For an instant it was like too many nights gone by, Catwoman rubbing against him suggestively, offering what he wanted so desperately but would never condescend to take. The wood-paneled wall at his back might have been the brick of a chimney or even the rough asphalt of a rooftop in Crime Alley. Selina's breath was hot against his jugular and Bruce swallowed. Then he felt the unfamiliar press of her swollen abdomen against his hips and he opened his eyes. She wasn't Catwoman, not anymore. Not right now. And he wasn't...he wasn't wearing the Suit. No masks between them, and she certainly wasn't offering her body up as a Get Out of Jail Free card. She loved him. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

The light was so dim in the hallway Bruce could just barely make out Selina's features. Those calm and clear green eyes gave nothing away. A useful skill in a thief, but frustrating in a lover. He pressed his thumb against her lips and Selina opened her mouth, taking him in.

"You've just had a nightmare," he whispered to her, watching her eyes drift closed as she sucked on his thumb. He felt her tongue slide against his digit and Bruce ignored the sudden tremble in his knees. Already he could feel his arousal stirring, that familiar rush of blood robbing the rest of his body of strength and resolve. When exactly had he stopped caring about the kind of effect she could have on him?

"Are you sure this is something you want to start?"

Selina sighed and slipped his thumb out of her mouth. It shone faintly in the moonlight, wet and swollen-looking. "Are you accusing me of being a tease, Mr. Wayne?"

He allowed himself a small smile. "Always. But you shouldn't..."

"What?" she asked, and now there was fire in her eyes. He welcomed it, glad to see Selina wasn't as unaffected by her demons as she appeared to be. On a purely academic level he understood her motivations for seducing him now: she had just experienced a violent nightmare, and he could guess at its general content. She had so often forced a sexual encounter between them after something had frightened her that Bruce had come to expect it. He worried that someday he would come to depend on it. And enjoy it.

"Follow me," he said, striding down the hall and into an unlocked room. Great white sheets were thrown over the furniture to protect the expensive pieces from dust. This room had been unused for years, but he did remember there was a sofa in here somewhere. And a fireplace.

"Wouldn't your bedroom be more...comfortable?" Selina asked, clearly enjoying herself. A small feline smile haunted her lips, and she stood with her arms folded loosely across her chest.

Bruce did not point out that the bedroom on the third floor was _their_ room. It had stopped being his solitary chamber six months ago, when Selina had escaped the confines of a temporary guest bedroom/recovery ward and placed her toothbrush next to his in the on-suite bathroom. They had not discussed the domestic reorganization formally, but now that they were together with a baby on the way and Lucy installed in a small room down the hall he considered the issue moot.

"Bruce, it's a hundred-and-thirty degrees outside. Why are you lighting a fire?"

He sparked a tinder against some yellowed newspapers and a pile of dried wood. Instantly flames began to lick against the blackened old hearth. "Because the temperature is expected to drop overnight and I intend to be here for quite some time."

Selina regarded him with a shocked expression. He was silently pleased that he could still manage to surprise her. Bruce rose from his crouching position and glanced at the sheet-draped objects in the room, selecting the sofa that would best suit his purposes. He threw the sheet off in a whirl of dust and commotion, happy to discover that the sofa was, in fact, a day-bed. He dragged it closer to the fireplace, the hundred-pound piece of furniture easy for him to reposition.

Selina watched Bruce as he moved the sofabed, admiring the way the muscles in his back worked and stretched under his shirt. She wondered sometimes how a man who radiated physicality, who by necessity needed to be fully aware of his own body at all times, could be so oblivious when it came to physical pleasures. Even now, months into their relationship, Bruce was occasionally still reserved, even monkish. She had never been able to decide if he still experienced lingering guilt over enjoying anything unrelated to capturing villains and righting wrongs. Still such a boy scout, despite all his denials. It was one of the things she loved most about him.

Finally, the arrangement of the furniture seemed to meet his approval. Bruce turned back to her, extending his hand. Selina felt a momentary twinge of reluctance. The firelight cast a warm glow over the sofabed and she worried that it was too bright, that he would see too much. She was six months' pregnant and she looked it. Even in Hawaii Selina had insisted Bruce douse the lamps and turn off all the lights before she would join him in bed. Even though she knew he could easily feel the changes in her body, Selina wasn't sure she wanted Bruce to see the extent of them.

He had noticed her hesitation. Bruce slowly lowered his hand, letting it come to rest in a clenched fist by his side. What was the source of Selina's reluctance? Was she perhaps having second thoughts about making love so soon after her nightmare? He had never, would never, insist on making her do something she didn't want to do, and if-

"Could you turn around?" she asked, and Bruce's eyes narrowed in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"Turn around," she repeated a little louder, her hands on her hips. "I'd rather not-"

"Selina," Bruce interrupted, "What is it?"

She was working very hard at not meeting his eyes. Even when she'd robbed a diamond exchange, gotten caught with the loot, and been secured by his own cuffs Selina Kyle had never looked embarrassed. What had changed?

Realization hit like a thunderbolt. "Oh."

At her fierce expression he closed his mouth, trying to think of something to say that would put Selina at ease and convince her that the gentle subterfuge of the last month hadn't been necessary. She didn't need to hide her body from him. He loved her, and he would certainly never-

"Are you going to turn around, or am I going to march upstairs right now and leave you to the tender mercies of that overgrown futon?"

Defiantly he folded his arms and leaned back against the warm stones of the hearth. They stood like that for long moments, each glaring at the other, unwilling to compromise. Bruce had once told Selina she was better at brinkmanship than he, but perhaps her innately stubborn nature had been worn down by the events of the last few hours. Or perhaps it was simply because Selina and Bruce had been living in a small apartment with thin walls and an observant five-year-old for the last few weeks. Whatever the reason, it was she who surrendered first. To his credit, Bruce's face remained impassive. He did not appear to relish his victory, although she was positive that inside the twisting corridors of his mind Bruce was gloating.

"Fine," she grunted, reminding herself that she had once paraded across the rooftops of Gotham in little more than skin-tight purple leather, stilettos, and a smile. The fact that she was no longer a size five shouldn't have affected her confidence _that_ much. Selina slipped the straps of her sundress off her shoulders and momentarily clutched the bodice tightly to her chest. She bowed her head and drew a deep breath, then shimmied out of the gown. She let the dress pool around her feet, her arms carefully folded over her breasts, and waited. Bruce remained quiet.

Finally, unable to bear his silence any longer Selina raised her head. Bruce still stood in the shadows by the hearth, the handsome, regular planes of his face thrown into sharp relief by the fire's flickering light. Her breath caught at what was in his face. He looked so...happy. And aroused. Peaceful, too, as if he wanted and expected nothing more than this moment. Selina couldn't help but glance down at her body, wondering if the heavy, swollen belly, her breasts and, yes, even the enormous pair of panties she'd been wearing under the sundress could have inspired such an expression.

"God, say something," she whispered. Her plea seemed to jolt Bruce out of whatever stupor he'd been in and he crossed the room to come within arm's reach of her, still transfixed by the sight of Selina's nude pregnant body in the glowing firelight.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, drawing her close. He kissed the top of her dark head, and Selina thought she could detect a faint tremble running through those strong, broad shoulders. If Bruce wasn't careful, he'd discover that his reputation of being the most emotionally-constipated man in Gotham was in serious danger.

Still, the sardonic thought couldn't completely counteract Selina's sense of relief. She hadn't exactly expected Bruce to turn away from her in disgust, but their connection had always been a decidedly erotic one. She'd worried that would change when her body did.

Bruce stepped back and absorbed the sight of her body again, memorizing the curves and shadows of her figure where the firelight couldn't reach. Selina had certainly changed, but he loved the way her pregnancy had enhanced the supple, sensual fullness of her body. Her breasts seemed several sizes larger, and he closed his eyes against the thought of filling his hands with them and suckling at Selina's pink, firm nipples. Her hips were rounder, more feminine, and the rest of her body seemed softer and more accessible. She still exuded that playful, dangerous sexuality that had been Catwoman's trademark, but perhaps the knowledge that she carried his child made Bruce think of Selina as a cross between a pagan fertility goddess and the embodiment of Batman's darkest fantasies.

The arousal that had been threatening all night sprung to sudden, painful life, and Bruce crushed Selina to him in a frantic kiss. He had never wanted her so badly, not during all of those tense rooftop encounters, not when he had first made love to her after the explosion at the docks, and not even later when both their lives and their love had been in such danger. He had never been this desperate for her.

Selina's teeth clicked against the invasion of his tongue an instant before she surrendered, shocked at the explosion of need and raw sexual energy she felt in Bruce's kiss. He had always been so reserved, so hesitant. Watchful, as if he expected her to turn from him at any moment. This domination was new, but it was tempered by the knowledge that Bruce would never take from her anything she did not freely offer. The thought made her smile against his kiss and she pushed on his shoulders, testing his restraint.

Bruce forced himself to stop, halting the movement of his mouth as it threatened to devour her. He was breathing heavily, and his body shook with the effort not to crush Selina close and invade her mouth again.

"You're overdressed," she suggested with a smile, acknowledging his need while managing to ignore its darker implications. He stepped back and stripped, keeping his eyes locked on hers. Selina met his challenge, willing herself not to let her gaze drop to take in that broad, muscular chest, tight stomach and narrow hips. He could have easily been a Grecian statue, if it were not for the scars and the hungry look in his eyes.

She drew her tongue across her lips, whetting them in anticipation. All this time, and she was still surprised by the beauty of Bruce's body. She knew Bruce would never describe himself as handsome – good looks were a tool to be exploited in his life as Bruce Wayne, and his personal demons would never allow the indulgence of vanity. Aesthetic appeal was only a side effect of his punishing exercise routine, strict diet and determination to push his body to the limits. The fact that he was the embodiment of male beauty and didn't seem to care somehow made him even more appealing.

Selina slipped the oversized maternity panties from her hips and stepped out of them, tossing them on top of her dress. Bruce was nude now as well, and she moved back into the radius of his grasp, a flush creeping over her skin at the feel of his bare skin against her body, the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing into her hip. She smiled, her teeth flashing white in the dark.

"Now is when it gets tricky," she whispered, skimming a hand over her rotund belly. "Missionary isn't going to do it anymore."

"We'll think of something," he assured her, making Selina grin. He kissed her again, more gently this time, and one of his hands slipped down to explore her breast. His thumb danced over her nipple, teasing it in a way carefully calculated to make her gasp.

The fires of his urgency somewhat banked, Bruce continued kissing her for long moments and finally ducked his head to trace Selina's collarbone with his tongue. Her fingers curled in his dark hair and she shivered as he blew cool air over the trail of moisture he left leading down to the breast that ached for his touch. They moved backwards as one; feeling the edge of the sofabed against the back of her knee Selina sank down, Bruce coming with her and not breaking the connection between his mouth and her breast. She lay back and Bruce settled beside her, still working his way down from her breasts to...

"Oh God," she groaned, her hips thrusting against him of their own accord. Bruce pressed a quieting hand against her hip. "You've never-"

"My mistake," he breathed against her. "One I intend to correct."

"It's definitely better than the missionary position," she assured him, her head lolling back against the sofa as she closed her eyes and concentrated only on the movement of his fingers and lips. There was a matching fluttering in her stomach and she rubbed her belly, quieting their child. Perhaps her contentment now could compensate for the trauma of her nightmare.

And it _was_ contentment. There was no better word. Synonyms presented themselves, but Selina rejected them all. The sight of Bruce's dark head moving between her thighs made deep something inside of her relax. It felt like the release of something she had been carrying for far too long. "I love you," she told him, arching back as a wave of pleasure washed over her. Her hips rose to give Bruce better access and he held her body close, his large hands making a 'v'-shape as he gripped her hip bones. His hands felt warm and dry, and his mouth...jesus, his mouth. Her attempt to murmur his name turned into something more like a whimper.

"You're...you're good at this," she managed. "Self-taught?"

Bruce didn't reply, doubling his pace and adding a finger. Selina worried it was possible to die from a combination of over-stimulation and raw need. She wanted him inside her, covering her body with his and spilling himself within her. She wanted Bruce to once again collapse exhausted on her chest, soft but reluctant to withdraw. And she wanted him to keep doing exactly what he was doing for the rest of time.

Her orgasm began as a faint fluttering deep in her abdomen; she almost confused it with the movement of their baby. It continued to build, its flames fanned by the stroke of Bruce's finger and his tongue, until it burst forth upon her and Selina stiffened, arching her back and crying out his name. Waves of it rolled over her body, lapping against her and within her. She fell back against the sofa bonelessly, tugging Bruce after her. His face was shiny in the firelight, an expression of satisfied pride stamped on his features. She could only smile and wipe weakly at his chin.

"That's disgusting." She wanted to run around the room laughing like a maniac and shout to the gods about the love she had found. Anyone with half a brain would describe Bruce Wayne as damaged goods. Selina was simply glad that she had him all to herself. He really was wonderful, in his own aggravating way. And not many men would do **that**. At least, not so well.

Bruce raised one massive arm and bent it behind his head, revealing a hairy armpit and a flexed, sharply-defined pectoral muscle. His nipple was brown and flat, a small half-moon scar tugging at the skin just beneath it. He straightened his other arm in invitation and Selina settled against him, his arm curling over her shoulders and tugging her against his side.

She studied his face, watching with fascination as Bruce's eyes closed, the long sweep of dark lashes coming to rest against high, aristocratic cheekbones. Selina tried to imagine if their child would inherit Bruce's eyes, or if they would possess her own green gaze.

"You're deciding right now how you could use that against me, aren't you?" she teased, poking Bruce in the ribs. He jerked, shaking his head in denial.

"You'd never let me get close enough. Not if you were really angry."

Selina nodded, her fingers trailing over the old claw marks that scored his chest just above his sternum. It had happened so long ago. In a different life.

"Thank you," she said softly. At the question in his eyes she continued. "For coming for me. In Kansas."

He shrugged, seemingly uncomfortable with the sudden turn in conversation. She almost sensed the shadows gathering in him; it was if somewhere inside Bruce was drawing down a thick pair of blinds. She placed a warm, steady hand over his heart and kissed him on the lips.

"You found me."

"You found me first," he whispered. "I never really thanked you for that."

"What you just did...well, that was a good start," she hesitated, eyes smiling at him. "But a good thief learns the value of making sure someone always owes you a favor."

She slipped down the length of his body; he was hard before she reached him and drew him into her hand. Selina kept her eyes on Bruce's face as she knelt above him on the narrow sofabed, watching the changes in his expression at the steady stroking movements of her hand. She was fascinated by what she saw there: it was like watching a storm sweep over the sea. One instant everything was calm, the next the clouds gathered and chaos reigned. When Selina finally drew his hard length into his mouth, she felt the thrumming of his body, the ebb and flow of tension, the way he attempted to practice self-control and finally surrendered himself to her ministrations. Bruce curled his toes and pressed his shoulders into the sofa, groaning as his body exploded under her eager hands and willing mouth. Finally peace descended. The storm had passed, and they were both still in one piece. Bruce was breathing a little heavily.

Selina curled up next to him, not even interested in brushing her teeth. She suddenly felt exhausted, and within the warm circle of firelight, secure in Bruce's arms, she knew it was safe to sleep.

They belonged to each other. Nothing could change that.


End file.
